Issues
by Stillwaterrs
Summary: Sorry about the long delay - Chapters 11 and 12 now posted, bringing this story to its conclusion. Tell me what you think! And see the teaser for my version of what happens after 'The Assault'.
1. Chapter 1

_**Issues**_

_**Chapter 1**_

The sky was still tinged with pink, the early morning crisp with the onset of autumn. The sun was climbing to its eventual ascendency, its warming rays gradually melting away the last faint traces of the past night's fog hovering over Stormking Mountain. A light breeze danced through the trees, making the lush oranges, reds and golds of the leaves flicker, teasing from them the first embers of color that in a little while would be set ablaze in seasonal conflagration. The spicy tang of pine mingled with the earthy scent of the woods, filling the air with the rich scent of life. Cardinals and meadowlarks, warblers and juncos, all called their greeting to the host of creatures emerging from den and hollow; chattering squirrels and plump rabbits, timid deer and grumbling opossum. Field mice and chipmunks darted here and there, gathering the seeds that would see them through the coming winter.

A doe raised her head from feeding, her ears swiveling to catch once more the faint sound that aroused her. Above her head the pair of squirrels that had been arguing over a hickory nut fell silent. One by one the other denizens of the wood, furred and feathered, halted in their daily activity to listen.

The object of their distraction came into view a moment later, gliding through the woods with the silent, deceptive speed of a born predator on the hunt. The animals all watched warily, ready to spring into flight should attention turn their way. They had seen this particular hunter before, and although she had never hunted them in the usual manner, all of them sensed in her a wildness unlike the others of her kind, a restrained lethalness in the careful tread of each booted foot that marked her as more dangerous than any other. The doe, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, melted away into the brush.

Shalimar Fox paused beside a paper birch tree as a familiar scent tickled her nostrils. She carefully removed a peeling piece of bark, her nose wrinkling a little as she brought it close and sniffed. She was right. The object of her search had touched this tree, and not that long ago. The trail was freshening.

As much as she enjoyed hunting, Shalimar would have preferred to still be in bed. She was not a morning person, especially when she hadn't gotten to bed until after two a.m. Most people who knew her had sense enough to let sleeping cats lie under these circumstances, but not her elemental teammate. Only Brennan Mulwray had the audacity to haul her out of the sack at this ungodly hour. The diabolical louse had roused her from a sound sleep, bugging her mercilessly via comlink until all she wanted to do was to find him and strangle him. As it turned out, that was exactly what he intended. He had gone out and hidden somewhere on the mountain, and now was challenging her to come out and find him. Groaning, she stumbled out of bed, splashed some water on her face, pulled on some clothes and set out, muttering all sorts of imprecations about what she would do when she caught up with him. His one hour time limit didn't even give her enough time to grab coffee.

They had started this game a couple of months ago almost by accident. First it was a sparring match with a steak dinner riding on the outcome. Next came a race over an impromptu obstacle course. Now they were taking turns coming up with different head-to-head contests as a fun way to challenge each other's skills, with the winner accorded the privilege of naming the prize. Since paying for that initial dinner Shalimar had scored a chic pair of French black sandals with stiletto heels, a designer purse, and a sassy little black leather jacket. This time she had her eye on dinner at The Palace, the most expensive five-star restaurant in town. She was confident she would get it, too. Brennan had challenged her in a contest that played to all of her strengths. She took it for granted that he had some trick up his sleeve that he thought would overcome her advantage, but although they had worked together for years, he really had no clue just how sharp her senses were. Only someone who saw the world as she did could possibly understand how much information they gathered. She smiled to herself. Maybe she would wear the stilettos to dinner – not to rub her winning streak in, mind you, just to make their respective heights a little more comparable.

Yawning hugely, Shalimar left the confines of Sanctuary and walked out onto Stormking Mountain. The air was clear and sharp, filled with teeming scents and sounds that none of her teammates could hope to appreciate. They grabbed her feral senses, clearing away the sleep-thick cobwebs shrouding her mind. She inhaled deeply, embracing the pure, primal essence of life flowing around her with her whole being, feeling the call of the woods awaken her soul and purge the sluggishness from her blood. The anticipation of the hunt zinged through her neural pathways, setting her nerves to tingling. So Brennan wanted her to come out and play, did he? Just wait until she got her hands on him. He was about to get a whole lot more than he bargained for.

The sign was easy to follow, from the first footprints left in the soft earth to the less obvious bits of crushed grass and broken twigs. He had started off at a good clip and in a relatively straight line at first. Then he tried such elementary tricks as leaping sideways from the track and scrambling over every log and boulder he came across. After a while he tried doubling back to confuse his trail, and later tried to break the scent-track by doing a hand-over-hand stunt on some tree branches. It was an impressive effort for someone much more comfortable in urban confines than in this kind of natural setting, though none of it was enough to fool her; not by a long shot. She did, however, give him a reasonable amount of credit for trying.

Presently she became aware of the drifting scent of ozone, as from an electrical discharge. She followed it. It grew stronger as she walked until finally she came to a halt in front of a huge, majestic pine towering over a smaller stand of trees and shrubs. The ozone stench was concentrated here, and oddly enough, it was ascending. The corners of her mouth curved into a satisfied smile. So this was his ace in the hole, the trick card she had been expecting. Brennan had used his electricity as jet propulsion to lift himself away. No doubt he thought that by ending his ground trail here he could delay her from catching up to him long enough for the time limit to expire. He just didn't realize that to one such as she, electricity provided just as much of a trail as his scent did.

Her feral hearing picked up the clincher – the faint scraping of a shoe against wood. Her eyes tracked upward to a point where the sound of the scraping converged with the smell of electricity at a thick cluster of drooping boughs about 30 feet up, wide enough and tall enough to conceal a man of Brennan's size. Peering closely, she caught a slight movement behind the branch. Bingo. She checked her watch and grinned triumphantly. Ten minutes to spare. She had just won herself dinner at the five star with all the trimmings. Maybe she would tack on a show, just to get even with him for starting this nonsense at such a ridiculous hour. There was a play at the Ambassador Theater that she wouldn't mind seeing.

She was just about to call out to him when something rustled in the grass. That something leaped up and seized her ankles with the speed of a striking snake. There was a twanging sound like the release of a tautly-strung bow, and she found herself whipped off her feet and flung high into the air. An instant later she was bouncing helplessly in a cleverly laid rope snare, dangling upside down from the branch of a sturdy bay tree.

Brennan edged out of concealment from behind the boughs and stepped off the sturdy limb he had been standing on, using the jet propulsion facet of his power to lower himself safely down from the big pine. Once on the ground he strolled nonchalantly over to where she hung gently swaying and looked up at her with an extremely smug look on his face.

"Dunlop D402's," he said happily.

She glared at him, breathless, startled, and thoroughly nonplussed.

"What?"

"Motorcycle tires. Two of them. Dunlop D402's with twenty-one inch rims."

From his unaffected manner one would think it was the most natural thing in the world to converse with her while she was hanging upside down from a tree with a rope around her ankles. Shalimar couldn't say which irritated her more – his provoking expression or the fact that he was making absolutely no move to release her. Her first impulse was to take a swing at him, but she couldn't quite reach him. She ground her teeth in frustration.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she snapped.

He gave her his most innocent look.

"Oh I'm sorry – do you need help getting down?"

Shalimar gave him a fulminating look that promised retribution as soon as she was free and muttered something about a cold day in hell. Brennan just stood there, smirking. When he first set out to end her winning streak he fell back on his old con-man talent to slowly string her along, letting her think she was in complete control when in reality he was using her own vanity to sucker her right into his snare. He knew that daring her to find him was a challenge to her tracking skills that she just couldn't ignore. He also knew that if he made it too easy she would smell a rat. To that end he laid out a careful plan and spent several days researching the details; how to lay the snare, how to confuse his trail, and most importantly how to use her own feral senses to decoy her into his trap. He couldn't have been more pleased with the results.

Shalimar swung twice and then, using the momentum to whiplash her lithe body upward, grabbed the rope about a foot above her ankles. Hand over hand she pulled herself up, then twined her left arm in the rope to take her body weight while she reached down with her right to loosen the noose around her feet.

The familiar sizzle of a newly-formed Tesla coil smote her ears. A second later a bolt of blue lightning flashed above her head, severing the rope. She barely had time to utter a startled yelp at the abrupt sensation of free fall before she plummeted straight into Brennan's outstretched arms.

He was grinning at her in that lopsided, boyish way of his that never failed to steal her heart, and she knew she couldn't stay mad at him. Much as she hated to admit it, she had been overconfident, and it cost her. He won fair and square. On the plus side she was still up three to two, and there was always next time. She would have to think of something suitably fiendish in the way of payback. The corners of her mouth tugged upward.

"Nice catch."

"Purely self-interest," he assured her, "I couldn't take the chance of you hurting yourself. You promised to help me wash down the Helix today."

She brought up one hand to cradle her chin, cocking her head sideways and pursing her lips as she pretended to be reconsidering her offer. Brennan retaliated by lowering his arms and leaning forward, tipping her a bit as if he was going to drop her. She screeched in mock fear and tried to grab his shoulder, his neck, anything, because with her feet bound she was at a serious disadvantage. He dipped her lower, pulling his neck out of easy reach.

"Do I hear an 'uncle'?" Brennan leaned a little further.

She managed to hook an arm around his bicep, but she knew it wouldn't hold if he really did dump her. Laughing, she surrendered.

"All right, all right! I'll still help you wash the Helix!"

He quickly gathered her back into his arms, grinning triumphantly. Neither of them would have gone through with their threats, and both knew it. This was just a typical example of the spontaneous horseplay that frequently seemed to crop up whenever they were together. Settled comfortably once more, Shalimar tilted her head to look up at him.

"So where did a city boy like you learn how to set up a snare like that?" she asked.

"Downloaded video from the Survivalist Channel," he explained, "I actually set it 3 days ago so it wouldn't tip you off by being quite so new. All I had to do today was lure you into it." With a playful little swing he set her on her feet and knelt down to see to the rope around her ankles. She steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders.

"I've watched you enough to know that you use scent and sound at least as much, if not more, than vision," he continued, trying to work the knot loose. He wasn't having a lot of success, partly because he was trying not to jerk her off balance by pulling too hard. "So that's what I had to divert. I knew the smell of the electrical discharge would draw you here, and used the jet burst to hold you in place. I figured that between that and scraping my feet on the limb it would distract you from looking at the ground." He glanced up at her with a quick smirk. "I was right."

Impressed in spite of herself at the thoroughness of his planning, she was equally annoyed with herself for underestimating him so completely. That wouldn't happen again. He could gloat now, but next time the tables would be turned. She bounced a light slap off the top of his head.

"Will you just get this thing off me?"

He gave the knot another fruitless tug, then reached toward his back pocket and the knife he always kept there.

"It's pulled too tight to loosen. Hold still."

Shalimar did as she was told. He slipped the lethally sharp blade between her ankles. With a flick of his wrist the knife parted the rope like it was butter. It gave way with an audible pop. Satisfied, he closed it down with the practiced flex of one hand and slid it back into his pocket.

As soon as the weapon was safely stowed, Shalimar struck. String her up by her ankles, would he? She pushed vigorously on Brennan's shoulders, dumping him on his butt. Unfortunately for her, he anticipated just such a move. His long arm hooked behind her knees, pulling her with him as he went down. She let out a little shriek as she toppled across his chest, and the two of them went tumbling through the leaves. Over and over they rolled, laughing and thrashing, each one trying to get the upper hand and neither one really succeeding. They finally came to a stop against a spreading mulberry bush, Brennan flat on his back and Shalimar sprawled on top of him. They were both grinning like mischievous children as they caught their breath. Shalimar propped her elbows on his broad chest, resting her chin in her small hands as she regarded him impishly.

"Motorcycle tires, huh?"

"Dunlop D402's…."

"…with twenty-one inch rims. I got it." She rolled her eyes theatrically. "Boys and their toys."

"What about girls and their clothes?" he riposted, "At least tires are necessary. How many pairs of shoes do you have?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Not enough. You'll be adding to my collection next time."

"Next time you'll be buying tickets to the auto show."

They both grinned in response to the other's challenge. Then after a moment Brennan's grin softened. He reached up and gently removed a leaf from her tousled golden hair. It was an innocuous gesture, nothing he hadn't done before, but somehow to Shalimar it suddenly seemed to be more than that, almost …intimate. Before she could gather her wits enough to wonder why that particular word had even crossed her mind or make any sense of the unexpected flush of heat to her cheeks, Jesse's voice came over the comlink.

"Hey, Shalimar, where are you?"

For a split second she wondered what his reaction would be if she told him the literal truth – that she was stretched out comfortably on top of a certain six-foot-four living sofa - but the thought was fleeting. She opted for a safer response.

"Out on the mountain getting some …exercise." Brennan arched an eyebrow and started to make a comment, but she put her hand over his mouth and gave him a warning glare. "What's up?"

"A message came in for you through our coded website," Jesse replied, "It's marked 'Urgent and Confidential."

That was interesting. Who did she know who would try to contact her through the generic site instead of her direct line? No one she could think of off the top of her head.

"Is there a name on the message?"

"It says 'Olivia Sheffield.'"

Shalimar went very still.

Seeing her expression Brennan's head came up, the action making her hand slide unheeded from his mouth. His arms tightened automatically around her waist.

"Who's Olivia Sheffield?" he asked in a low voice.

Shalimar blinked. She looked back at Brennan with eyes the size of saucers.

"My mother."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter **__**2**_

The walk back to Sanctuary was made in silence. To Brennan it was almost as if she were sleepwalking. He had never seen her like this. Last year when faced with the prospect of confronting her father for the first time her reaction had been immediate and volatile, even violent. Now she looked like she was in shock. Maybe she was, he mused. He couldn't remember Shalimar ever mentioning her mother, not even after her father died. What could have happened between mother and daughter to zombie her out like this? His gentle queries elicited no response. About all he had been able to get out of her was that her parents had split up not long after she ran away from the institution they had put her in, and that at some point her mother had remarried. Other than that, she gave no sign that she even knew that he was accompanying her.

When they reached her bedroom Shalimar hesitated at the threshold. Brennan could almost feel her bracing herself. He squeezed her shoulders in a silent gesture of support, letting her know that he was there for her, whether it meant being at her side while she viewed the message or later if she wanted to talk. As apparently oblivious to his presence as she had been he half expected her to jump at this sudden contact, but she didn't. She turned inside his encircling arms, staying him with the light brush of fingertips on his chest, and beneath the pain in her deep brown eyes he saw gratitude for his offer and a promise to take him up on it later. Then she turned away, squaring her shoulders in a deliberate gesture and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

Brennan stood outside, his eyes fixed on the portal. His head knew that what Shalimar needed right now was space, but his heart wanted nothing so much as to open the door, gather her into his arms and hold her until the pain receded from her eyes. In the end his head won. Slowly, reluctantly, he forced his feet to move, step by unwilling step, until they carried him down the row to his own room. He would wait for her there. She would come to him when she was ready.

Shalimar crossed the room and sat down at her desk, the sleeping computer screen staring at her with its unblinking opaque eye. So many emotions were swirling inside her that she couldn't even begin to keep up, battling back and forth until all she could feel was numb. Memories played before her eyes, sputtering like crude home movies; scenes of ice cream and a soft cloth daubing at skinned knees, of monkey bars and the reassuring squeeze of a hand on the first day of school, of storybooks at bedtime, then later giving way to bewilderment and fear, of shouts and anger, thrown cushions and broken chairs, of eyes of love becoming looks of fear, and a mother's hand pulling away.

Something wet slid down Shalimar's cheek, and she discovered that she was crying. She swiped disgustedly at her eyes. This was getting her nowhere. There was only one way to find out why her mother was contacting her after all this time, and sitting here dredging up the past wasn't going to make that happen. Taking a deep breath, she made her finger reach out and tap a button.

"Hello, Shalimar."

The image on the screen froze. It took Shalimar several seconds to realize that she had paused the video; she had no recollection of having done so. The jolt she experienced just on seeing that face and hearing that voice after so many years took her by surprise. They were strangers now. All the anger and hurt and bitterness was in the past. Shalimar was a woman grown, with a life of her own and a family who loved her for who she was. She was no longer a terrified and confused little girl.

Another tear slid down her cheek, and Shalimar wondered grimly who she was trying to kid. A phoenix had risen from the ashes of her past bringing back feelings she thought were long buried. In an effort to collect herself, to lasso the wildly chaotic emotions ricocheting inside her aching heart, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, using yoga techniques to try to center herself. After a moment when she felt she had regained at least a modicum of control, she opened her eyes and forced herself to study the image before her.

_She looks older than I expected_, Shalimar thought with an almost clinical detachment. _I almost didn't recognize her._ The years had not been particularly kind to the woman in the video. For a moment she wondered if this was indeed her mother. Her mother had been beautiful, her skin soft and smooth, her cheeks rosy and rounded, her cornsilk hair long and lush. This woman's features were essentially the same, but her face was thin and drawn, with lines that the expensive cosmetics couldn't completely disguise. Her hair was still blond, now cut in a short, fashionable style, but the shade that had once matched her daughter's now came out of a bottle. The voice was the same, though, as was the wariness in her eyes.Perhaps the picture in her head was just a child's fantasy, not a true memory. After all, the last time she saw her mother was half a lifetime ago.

She tapped 'play', and the video resumed.

"I would have contacted you sooner, but I didn't know how to reach you," the image said. The hands fluttered nervously, folding and refolding, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them. "I don't even know if this message will find you now, or if it does, if you'll even open it. I wouldn't blame you if you deleted it sight unseen."

Shalimar was in perfect agreement with that notion.

The woman in the video took a deep breath, collecting herself.

"Well, anyway, if you've watched this far, let me get to the point," she said, "Among your father's effects was a life insurance policy, one that I didn't know anything about. It's for one hundred thousand dollars, and it names you as the sole beneficiary. You also have a substantial bequest in his will. Collecting it involves a fair amount of paperwork and red tape, so you'll have to come out to San Francisco. If you'll let me know you're coming, I can set it up with the attorneys. It should only be for a couple of days."

The figure hesitated.

"I suppose the most convenient thing would be for you to stay with us," she said slowly, "Our penthouse has a guest room, and it's near the heart of downtown, just a few blocks from the attorney's office. That will simplify meeting arrangements."

Shalimar paused the video again. _Convenient_, she said. Not _I'm longing to see you_ or _there's so much for us to talk about._ Not even _It's nice to know you're alive and not in prison for killing someone._ Convenient. Shalimar could almost feel the reluctance rippling in waves from the image's closed expression and wooden posture, as if seeing her only child again was nothing more than a necessary evil. Probably there was something in her father's will that wouldn't allow his ex-wife to get whatever he might have left her if she didn't at least try to contact their prodigal daughter. Shal could easily picture her manipulative father arranging things that way. Olivia was no doubt hoping that by appearing so obviously unwelcoming Shalimar would refuse to come.

_Well, Mom, you're about to get your wish_. Shalimar had no intention of flying all the way out to the West Coast. For what? To reopen a lot of old wounds? To have the faint little flicker of hope that insisted on rising in her heart despite her best efforts to keep it locked inside get brutally stomped on? It would be far better to just to ignore the whole thing, to bury the past once again and try to regain the peace of mind the phoenix had so thoroughly shattered. It would take time, but she could do it, just as she had before.

With that thought Shalimar extended a finger to stab the 'delete' key, but for some reason ended up simply snapping off the monitor instead. That small action, however, seemed to be the extent of her brain's ability to function. For a long time she just sat there, drained and numb, staring into the screen's all-encompassing blackness, echoes of all the old unanswered questions and what-might-have-beens, all the hopes, dreams and fears clamoring in the back of her mind. Finally, chiding herself for allowing such foolish, sentimental and impossible thoughts to affect her like this, she resolutely turned her back on the screen and rose slowly to her feet. Weariness weighed on her to the very depths of her soul. More than anything she wanted to simply climb back into her den-like bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend the whole thing was nothing more than a bad dream. Instead she found herself leaving her room and heading down the row, seeking a haven of a different sort.

Brennan felt rather than saw the shadow fall across his open doorway, and was up off his bed, his book falling forgotten from his grasp, before Shalimar's tentatively-raised hand could knock. Ordinarily he would have waited for the tiger to come to him, or at least met him half way, but one look at her face drove him into unthinking action. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into his arms, kicking the door closed behind them. Without asking any questions he just held her, feeling the proud, rigid stance of her body as she fought to suppress the first telltale quivers, saying nothing because there was no need for words between them, but speaking with his body as she buried her face in his shoulder. The tremors built, and bit by bit her control wavered until finally it collapsed completely, not in great, wracking sobs but in quiet shudders and hot tears seeping into his shirt.

After a while the storm subsided. Brennan felt her start to draw back and immediately loosened his grip. Shalimar sniffled and turned away, dashing the last moisture from her eyes, too embarrassed at her loss of composure to look up at him. This was not the image she usually projected. He must think her a total wimp.

"Sorry about that," she said sheepishly, a dull flush rising to her cheeks to match her reddened eyes, "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't sweat it."

He reached back for the box of Kleenex that stood on his desk and handed it to her. She gave him a wry, watery little smile.

"Thanks."

She took one and tended to her runny nose, and then set the box on his dresser behind her. When she turned back she saw that he had peeled off his shirt and was slowly advancing on her, an odd look on his face. Hard muscles rippled under gleaming skin as he moved closer. Shalimar's breath caught in her throat; she couldn't tear her eyes away. He was pure power and athletic grace, like a jungle cat on the prowl, and so totally, compellingly _male_. The temperature in the room suddenly jumped fifteen degrees. She took an uncertain step back, bumping into the dresser.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

Then he was there, looming over her, and one of his hands was reaching out. For a moment she thought she saw something like hunger flash in his eyes, and her heart gave a funny little leap. But she must have imagined it because in the next instant it was gone, and he was reaching, not for her but around her, to the drawer handle.

"Just getting a fresh shirt," he said softly, not taking his eyes off her but leaning in close, so close she could almost feel his breath on her skin, "This one's a little damp."

For a split second she had the strange idea that he almost said something else. Then he pulled the drawer open, and she jumped a bit and scuttled sideways out of his path when it smacked her in the butt. He bent over the open drawer and seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to select another shirt. She turned away, seeking a distraction from the suddenly unsettled nature of her thoughts. Her eyes fell on the shirt tossed carelessly on the bed. She picked it up and found the spot her tears had soaked. Embarrassment at her weakness flooded her all over again.

"I really did a number on you, didn't I?" she said ruefully. The wet spot was bigger than she thought. She touched it tentatively, and a little frisson of electricity skittered up her spine as her feral senses caught the smell of her tears mingled with his scent in the fabric. The combination was enticing somehow, one that made her want to bury her nose in it and inhale deeply. A heartbeat later she realized what she had just been thinking, and dropped it back on the bed as if it suddenly burned her. Brennan didn't notice. He had other things on his mind.

"You sure did," he muttered, shaking out the new shirt as he prepared to put it on.

She was blushing furiously when he popped his head through the opening and pulled the shirt into place. Brennan mistook the cause of her discomfiture. Thinking she was still chagrined over her breakdown, he came over and lightly put his hands on her shoulders.

"Hey," he said gently, "I told you, don't sweat it. I don't mind you crying on my shoulder, and I certainly don't think of it as any kind of weakness on your part." He took one hand and lifted her chin to meet his gaze, smiling at her. "Actually, I take it as a compliment."

She gave him a look that seriously questioned whether he had lost his marbles. He had to chuckle when he saw it.

"I mean it," he insisted, "You and I … and some others I could mention … it's not in our natures to easily allow others to see what we perceive as our weaknesses. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, or more likely some kind of trust issue – which is weird when you think about it because we trust each other with our lives all the time. But this is more…I don't know… _personal_ is the closest word I can think of right now. A more conscious, more decisive expression of trust." He sighed, realizing that he wasn't expressing himself the way he wanted to, brought home in part by the slightly incredulous expression on her face as she stared at him. "Anyway, the way I see it, you trusted me enough to let me share something that you would ordinarily keep very private. Like I said, I take it as a huge compliment."

Shalimar felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Brennan never ceased to amaze her. Just when she thought she had him pretty well figured out, he comes up with something like this. She allowed the smile to blossom.

"That's pretty profound for a guy who was raised on the streets."

Brennan's eyes twinkled. "That's me. Profound, sensitive…"

"Humble…."

"That too." Then he sobered, and lightly brushed a wayward strand of gold back behind her ear.

"So what did your mom have to say?"

Shalimar's smile died. She turned away, pacing slowly around the room. Brennan slid quietly into his desk chair, giving her space literally and figuratively, waiting. Back and forth, back and forth, and all around the room she prowled, picking up things and putting them back down without really even seeing them. Brennan could see the tension coiling in her, her muscles tightening into knots with each passing minute. He didn't push her, remaining silent. Finally, after several more circuits around his room, she dropped wearily onto the bed facing him and drew in a deep breath.

"Let me tell you a little story…."

They came in to the kitchen for lunch together, ostensibly looking as if nothing untoward had happened. Jesse stood at the counter amid an array of packaged meats, crusty bread and condiments as he worked on assembling a pair of sandwiches. Lexa crunched a potato chip from an open bag nearby, then hefted a pitcher of tea to pour into two glasses, the ice cubes inside crackling as the liquid hit them. Both looked up at the new arrivals.

"There's cole slaw and potato salad in the fridge to go with sandwiches if you don't want the chips," Jesse said casually. He turned back to what he was doing without further comment. The cold water Shalimar must have splashed on her face mitigated the reddened, slightly puffy look of her eyes but didn't completely erase it. He surmised that she'd told Brennan about her childhood once her powers began to surface. Jesse had already heard at least part of the story; being together long before the others joined gave them a special bond, like brother and sister, and they shared a lot of confidences in those early days. Meanwhile, Lexa went to the cupboard and pulled down extra plates and glasses. If she noticed the grim set to Brennan's jaw, or the fact that the black, long-sleeved tee shirt he was wearing when she saw him before breakfast was now light gray, she didn't mention it.

They ate lunch with the usual small talk punctuated by some awkward silences, each one pointedly avoiding the subject that was uppermost in their minds. Afterward, Shalimar drifted into the lounge area, the others trailing cautiously in her wake. She was well aware of the covert glances shooting at her back and between her teammates, just as she knew that Jesse and Lexa were waiting for her to tell them what was in the message. She flopped into one of the overstuffed chairs, pulling her feet up and tucking them inside.

To no one's surprise Brennan took the chair next to her, a large, hovering presence and making no apology for it. Interestingly enough, Jesse and Lexa elected to sit together, slipping onto the near end of the larger sofa with a studied casualness, not actually touching, but not with a lot of room between them either. The feral filed that intriguing little tidbit away for future reference. In the meantime, she might as well get this over with. They listened sympathetically as with just a few terse sentences she gave them the gist of the message, leaving out most of the gory details. She finished with what she hoped was a convincing show of complete indifference.

"It doesn't matter anyway, because I'm not going."

She knew by their faces that none of them bought her act. Silence reigned as they all pondered her declaration for a moment.

"Maybe you should, if only for the money," Lexa ventured, taking a sip of her iced tea, "Not counting whatever is in the will, a hundred grand is a pretty fair chunk of change."

"I don't want his money!"

Lexa set her glass of tea down on the end table and returned Shalimar's glare seriously. "You might want to reconsider. This thing with the Dominion is going to come to a head sooner or later. When that happens, we need to be prepared. Having some extra cash around could come in handy."

She had a point, and a good one. Shalimar hadn't thought of that. The precognitive psionic, John Bishop, did say something to her about a looming battle, and Adam Kane had warned them that the Dominion was not to be trusted. She reached up to rub her right temple where an ache was beginning to develop. Just what she needed – more complications.

"I agree with Lexa," Jesse spoke up, "In fact, that's something we should all start thinking about – stockpiling cash and other supplies in the Helix and in places outside of Sanctuary. We need to start making some serious contingency plans."

Shalimar glanced over at Brennan in the adjacent chair.

"You might as well get your two cents' worth in." He hadn't said anything while they were in his room.

He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"It's your call, and I'll support you in whatever you decide. We all will." He directed a hard look at Lexa, daring her to contradict him, before returning his gaze to Shalimar. "But I remember when you confronted your father. A lot of things came out, and you were able to put at least some of it behind you. But then he died in the explosion at Naxcon, and I know you've wondered sometimes since then if you could ever have established any kind of relationship with him. You have that opportunity now with your mother, a chance to maybe unload some of that baggage. I just think you might regret it later if you don't take that chance."

She glanced around the room, meeting each one's gaze in turn. No one spoke. For a moment it seemed as if Sanctuary itself held its breath, waiting for her to speak. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the top of the chair cushion. The pros and cons battled back and forth in her mind, the arguments for and against hammering her until she felt like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. Ultimately, though, it was her decision, just as Brennan said. A weary sigh escaped her.

"Fine. I'll go."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter **__**3**_

Tissue paper crackled noisily as Shalimar folded the mocha brown belted jacket around it and slipped it into her bag on top of the matching slacks. The idea of the paper was to keep the suede from wrinkling too much. It would have been better off in a garment bag, but she didn't want to be weighed down with anything more than a single carry-on bag. She would only be in San Francisco for a couple of days, after all, and it wasn't as though she needed an array of fancy outfits. For sure she didn't need to impress anyone.

Still, she had dithered for quite a while before deciding on this particular suit as the outfit she would wear to the attorney's office. Why it should matter one way or the other was something she hadn't tried to figure out. Her mother probably figured she would show up in either biker's leathers or something made from animal skins. Whatever. The suit was stylish, the fit was tailored, and the color looked good on her. She would look every inch the mature, confident woman she was. That was enough. Shalimar absently smoothed a pair of wrinkles from the rich fabric and closed the bag.

A tantalizing aroma wafted into the room, warm and familiar. She turned, an affectionate glow lighting her face. Jesse Kilmartin stood in the doorway holding two large, steaming mugs by their handles. She came to meet him as he moved toward her and carefully took the one he extended to her. A fond smile touched her lips.

"Hot chocolate," she murmured, "Boy, does this bring back memories."

They were good memories, too, at least most of them. Back in the early days it had been just the two of them, each loners in their own way: Shalimar, wild and undisciplined, longing for acceptance yet isolated by the fear her abilities generated in those around her; Jesse, shy and sensitive, hiding from the world behind a computer. Thrown together for long hours as Adam Kane taught them how to come to terms with their conditions, they gradually started reaching out to each other. The hot chocolate became their touchstone. It was hard to remember now just which one started their private little ritual, but it became a habit between them after a long or particularly grueling training session that one would make a pot of the steaming beverage and take it to the other's room. There they would sit and talk for hours on end about anything and everything, sharing hopes and fears sometimes late into the night, or at least until Adam shooed them back to their separate rooms – and even then, Jesse sometimes phased back through the wall as soon as the coast was clear. Oddly enough, though they formed a strong emotional bond, there was never a particularly strong sexual attraction between them. Perhaps it was because Shalimar knew instinctively that she needed someone who could keep up with her in a way that the molecular never could, or perhaps it was because Jesse was still reeling emotionally from the breakup of an engagement to his high school sweetheart. Whatever the reason, the platonic nature of their relationship was an understood thing between them that neither thought to question, a unique connection forged in battle and shared internal scars. In recent years their little ritual fell by the wayside as they matured and gained confidence, and the addition of Brennan and Emma De Lauro changed the team dynamic, but their special bond remained, and both treasured it.

Shalimar curled up into her padded wicker round chair. Jesse settled himself against her desk, crossing his ankles. Wisps of smoke wreathed his face as he regarded her over the top of his mug.

"Those were the days, weren't they?"

"Those were the days," she agreed. She took a hesitant sip, wincing as she burned her tongue. "We were just a couple of confused, messed-up kids, and all we had was each other. And Adam, too, of course, but not being a mutant himself, he really couldn't understand what we were going through, the changes happening in our minds and bodies. It was a special time."

She took another tentative sip, sniffed, and cocked her head quizzically.

"This doesn't taste or smell the way I remember it."

He smiled. "That's because I added an extra ingredient that Adam would have seriously frowned upon – Bailey's Irish Cream. We're not kids anymore, and I thought you could use it."

She nodded approvingly and brought the cup once more to her lips. Now that it was cooling a little and her taste buds had recovered from that first scalding sip, she could taste the fine liqueur. It tasted good. A soothing warmth settled in her belly and started to spread. "You're right. Adam would have had kittens."

He chuckled and took a swallow from his own mug. They drank in companionable silence for a couple of minutes. Then Jesse lowered his drink, his eyes narrowed appraisingly.

"How do you feel about this?"

She didn't have to ask what he was talking about. She lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

Startled eyes flashed up to meet his.

"Hey - this is me," he reminded her gently, "I know the story. And I know you."

"Then you know that I'm not doing this for myself," she shot back accusingly, "You're the ones who want me to go."

Jesse shook his head. "We just gave you the excuse you needed."

"I wasn't looking for an excuse!"

He set his mug on the desk.

"One of the things we agreed upon in the very beginning was to be honest with each other," he said seriously, "To call things as we saw them. And what I see is that deep down inside you there's still a terrified little girl huddling in a corner needing to understand why."

"Understand why a supposedly loving mother had her ten year old daughter tackled by four cops, wrestled to the floor and dragged out of her home in a straitjacket?" Shalimar set her mug down on the small round table next to the chair with enough impetus to make some of the chocolate slosh out. The strength of the emotions roiling inside took her by surprise. One would have thought that the worst of the pent-up bitterness would have been released earlier when she lost control in Brennan's arms. Evidently not. She sprang to her feet and started prowling her room like an agitated tiger, as if she suddenly couldn't bear to be still. "Why she was locked up in an institution like some kind of animal? Why her parents sanctioned drugs and repeated beatings to try to force me into their definition of 'normal'?"

Jesse absorbed the storm quietly, aching for the pure pain which, despite the mental toughness he always admired in her, he could see bleeding from her every pore.

"Yes," he said simply.

She whirled on him, wire-tense and looking ready to fight or flee. Then all at once the tension melted. Her shoulders sagged wearily.

"Maybe you're right," she sighed. She walked slowly back to the table, picked up her cup and stared into the brown depths. One finger reached out and slowly traced the rim, circling and circling while she gathered her thoughts and recognized the truth of his words. "Maybe it is time I got some of those questions answered."

"I think so."

"Get some closure."

"Or some peace. I just don't think you can look ahead if you're always looking back."

Her head snapped around and she peered at him sharply. What did he mean by that? But her molecular brother-in-spirit returned her look mildly. He just picked up his mug again and took a satisfying swallow.

Could Jesse have known that she sought out Brennan after viewing the message from her mother? Guessed, perhaps, although he didn't say anything when they came in for lunch. Well, so what? It wasn't as if there was anything going on between them. It was only a matter of trust, just as Brennan said. And yet…did she want it to be more? Was she subconsciously looking to take their relationship to the next level? She thought of how good it felt to be in his arms, to be held and comforted, to feel safe and ….home? And then later …she almost blushed to remember the way her pulse had quickened and her nerves started tingling from head to toe when he leaned over her to retrieve a fresh shirt. It had been all she could do not to flatten her hands on his broad chest and let them roam freely across his sleek skin, exploring the flat plains and sculpted contours of hard muscle rippling beneath. His scent had been so….the word _arousing_ came to mind, but she quickly discarded it in favor of _unsettling_ which, upon reflection, wasn't a whole lot better. Stop it! she commanded herself. This was not the time to try to sort out her tangled thoughts on that subject. She had more immediate things to deal with.

Jesse hid a secret smile. His non-related sister was one flustered feral, and he didn't think it was just the prospect of this trip that was disturbing her. He was beginning to see what Lexa was talking about. The fiery brunette had been insisting for a week that something was going on between Shalimar and Brennan. Jesse had been slow to see it because outwardly their behavior hadn't seemed all that different to him. Lately, though, he had been noticing a change in the way Brennan looked at her in unguarded moments, although Shalimar seemed oblivious. Or maybe not. She sure jumped when he mentioned looking ahead. Was she starting to think of a future with the big elemental? He hoped so. He always assumed that eventually the two of them would get together; a blind man could see how well they fit. Maybe it was happening now. If so, it was nothing short of Providence that led her mother to contact her at this time. Shalimar needed to get past some things before the relationship could move forward, and if that was what they wanted, they had better get a move on. With the Dominion lurking in the background plotting who-knew-what, there was no telling how much time any of them had left.

The silence stretched between them. Shalimar used a couple of tissues to wipe up the spilled chocolate, then sank back into her chair, mug in hand. She drank the cooling beverage without seeming to taste it, so lost in thought was she. Jesse decided to nudge her out of her reverie.

"So are you all packed? Got your plane tickets and everything?"

She nodded. "My flight leaves tomorrow morning at nine."

"Almost the crack of dawn for you."

Her face twisted in an exaggerated grimace. "Not 'almost' when you consider what time I have to get up to get there and get through security and everything. Brennan is going to drive me to the airport."

"You know I'd be glad to fly you out in the Helix. I know how antsy you get when you're cooped up or in a crowd."

She smiled over the rim of her cup. "Brennan already made that offer. But it doesn't make sense to have to make two round-trip flights, and Lexa says the Dominion bean counters are starting to squeal about unnecessary expenses. Besides, the distraction will probably be a good thing – keep me from thinking too much. I'll be okay."

"Unless one of the security people gets a little too frisky with the pat-down."

That brought a chuckle. "There is that. Just make sure you have enough cash on hand for bail."

"Done."

They finished their drinks at about the same time. Jesse held out his hand to take her empty mug. She rose and gave it to him, and then leaned in close to brush his cheek with her lips. His expression was soft and questioning when she pulled away.

"For the chocolate," she explained, and he could see that her eyes were misting a little, "And the Bailey's. But most of all for your patience, honesty and understanding. I know it couldn't have been easy, especially in those early days. I don't know what I would have done without you. You accepted my wild streak."

"And you brought me out of my shell." Jesse returned the kiss warmly and enfolded her in a hug, somewhat hampered by the mugs in his hands. She didn't mind a bit. They parted slowly, each aglow with the specialness of the moment and the renewal of a relationship that was unique and precious to both of them. He released her reluctantly and gazed into her deep brown eyes.

"I know how hard this is going to be for you," he said softly, "But there's something else I want you to remember. You were just a kid when all this went down. There may have been more going on than you knew."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. What I do know is that relationships with parents are complicated things. Kids grow up, after all. Perceptions change."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I'm just saying – don't be so fixated on the past that you can't accept anything else. Try to be open to possibilities."

She looked away. A shudder ran through her as she seemed to be fighting some internal battle. When she turned back to Jesse it was with haunted eyes filled with the ghosts of her past.

"I'll …try."

"That's my girl."

The ride to the airport the next morning was accomplished in relative silence, with only the barest smattering of small talk, for which Shalimar could only be grateful. She was tense enough as it was. Nor did Brennan get on her nerves by repeatedly glancing over at her; he kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut, although occasionally she could see a muscle twitch around his tightened jaw. Presently he pulled the Mustang up to the terminal into a temporary parking space. He parked, and the two climbed out. All around other passengers were clambering out of cars and fumbling with luggage. Brennan popped the Mustang's trunk latch and walked to the rear of the vehicle to retrieve her carry-on bag. Shalimar met him there, and as he opened the lid she noticed another dark shape in the trunk.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, gesturing at the black zippered shoulder bag. There was an ominous undertone in her voice.

He shrugged. "That's up to you."

Shalimar felt her hackles start to rise. She knew it. One lousy little loss of control, and now Brennan was going all protective on her. He was planning to go with her, as if she was porcelain or something. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was to be hovered over. Her temper, already on edge because of this trip, flashed.

"I don't need a babysitter, Brennan!"

"I'm not offering one," he said evenly, "Just moral support and another shoulder."

"Yeah? That's not what it looks like."

She reached in and snatched her bag's handle. His big hand closed over her small one, stopping her from removing it.

"Shal."

She impaled him with a look that dripped icicles. He met it squarely.

"You can't expect me to see you hurting and not want to do something to help," he said earnestly, "I'm allowed that. But I also know that all I can do is make the offer. It's up to you to decide whether or not to accept it."

He relaxed his hand, releasing hers.

Shalimar's fingers slid unconsciously from the handle as the full import of his words penetrated. Her anger evaporated, to be replaced with a dawning wonder. She expected him to argue, to get defensive, even to try to guilt her into letting him accompany her. He did none of those things. He just laid the offer before her, simple and straightforward – I'm here if you want me, no offense if you don't. Your choice.

But there was more to it than that. She could read in his body language that he badly wanted to go with her, to be there for her as he had the previous night, but he also understood that she needed her space. Without any prompting from her he restrained his natural, and sometimes overbearing, protective instincts and set a boundary for himself that respected her independence. They had long been partners in battle, with the equality the term described, but now he was demonstrating that equality on a much more personal level. That he could do that for her, put his own desires aside in such a way, made her heart swell. He didn't know it, but he had just given her a gift more precious than diamonds. Her eyes grew moist. Brennan saw it.

"What?" he said gently, "Why are you so surprised? I'm a profound and sensitive guy, remember?"

That made her smile tremulously.

"And humble. I forgot."

He reached in and pulled the bag from the trunk, balancing it on the lip until she grasped the handle. He must have been carrying a full charge because her hand tingled when it brushed his in the exchange, although she never actually saw a spark. He released the bag but didn't stray far, his fingers resting lightly on the leather case.

"So what's the verdict?"

She hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was to blow him off with an automatic response. His offer, and the fortitude it took to make it in the manner he had, demanded her respect and genuine consideration. She lifted her eyes to meet his.

"It's just for a couple of days," she said softly, "I'll be fine."

His head nodded once in acceptance. He had been pretty sure that she would decline his offer; he even thought he knew at least part of the reason why. But he had to be sure. One big hand cupped her face tenderly.

"You don't ever have to be afraid or embarrassed to show your emotions," he whispered huskily, "Not with me. You know that, don't you?"

She turned her head slightly and pressed a soft kiss into his palm. It trembled beneath her lips.

"I know it," she answered, her eyes glittering, "It's not about that. It's just ….. I feel – I _know_ – I need to do this alone. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I understand. I've been there, too."

She stepped forward and hugged him with her available arm. He squeezed her in return, then released her. She swung her bag around and started for the terminal doors.

"Shal."

She turned.

"If you need to talk, call me. Any time, day or night."

She smiled.

"I will."

She started forward once again, the terminal's plexiglass doors opening in welcome. Brennan just stood there, watching her go. It wasn't until long after she was out of sight that he closed the trunk, climbed into the car and slowly drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: Sorry for the delay – life intruded on my writing time._

_**Chapter **__**4**_

Several hours later a yellow cab pulled up to the front of a swanky high-rise in the heart of San Francisco. The building was huge, encompassing half a city block, and came complete with a black-and-silver crested entrance canopy and a gaudily-uniformed doorman. Shalimar craned her neck, looking up at the imposing edifice, and felt her nerves tighten another notch. The place positively reeked of money and an upper-class lifestyle that she was sure she would find stifling, if not downright claustrophobic. But there was no turning back now. She paid the driver, collected her bag and purse, and stepped out.

The middle-aged guard at the security desk greeted her with professional courtesy, but he was definitely on the ball, his alert eyes missing nothing. Before she could even announce herself he was producing a clipboard for her to sign in. Shalimar was a little disconcerted when he addressed her by name, but then supposed that she really shouldn't be surprised. Her mother had always had a propensity for organization and detail. Naturally she would alert the guard to her arrival, and there was a fair resemblance between the two. After wishing her a pleasant stay, he buzzed her through the electronic door to the elevators.

The ride to the penthouse floor seemed to take an hour. Shalimar wiped her damp palm on her jeans. Funny – she could face down a trio of knife-wielding thugs without turning a hair, but the prospect of confronting her mother after all this time had her mouth dry and her palms sweating. A whole flock of butterflies took up residence in her stomach. She got out of the elevator and walked down the hall to a door bearing the number 1502.

Maybe she should have stopped to run a brush through her hair, she thought distractedly, or perhaps freshened her makeup in the cab. Maybe she should just turn around and catch the next flight home. _Don't be such a coward,_ she chided herself. There were questions here that she needed the answers for, one way or the other. Taking a deep, here-goes-nothing breath, she pressed the door button.

A musical chime sounded from within the penthouse. Her feral hearing picked up a muted thump, like something had been dropped, and then there were footsteps approaching. Shalimar remembered those footsteps. They paused behind the closed door for several seconds. Shalimar swallowed apprehensively, trying to ease the sudden tightness in her throat and bring some moisture into her arid mouth. Her fingers clamped around the shoulder strap of her purse the way a drowning man would hang onto a life preserver. The butterflies in her stomach grew to the size of blackbirds. _Calm down! You can do this!_

A chain rasped, and the tumblers of a lock clicked. Shalimar sucked in a quick breath and unconsciously held it. The door swung slowly open. A blond woman dressed in a long-sleeved silk blouse of royal blue and flowing black bolero slacks stood before her.

"Hello, Mother."

"Shalimar!"

The whisper hung in the air for a brace of heartbeats that lasted for a short eternity. Neither woman seemed to know quite how to react to the other. Then with a small sound that could have been a sob, Olivia Fox Sheffield flung her arms around her long-lost daughter and squeezed her tightly. Shalimar responded to this surprising greeting somewhat awkwardly with her free arm, but kept her posture wary and resisting. True, there seemed to be genuine warmth in the embrace, but it was completely possible she could be feeling only what she wanted so desperately to feel. _Don't forget the video,_ she reminded herself. The woman in the message hadn't been nearly this welcoming. There remained the possibility of an ulterior motive. Still, although she was determined not to allow herself to be suckered by the aching nugget of hope sprouting unbidden in her heart, Shalimar unbent enough to at least return the greeting in the correct manner. Reacting to this lack of enthusiasm, or perhaps just dropping the pretense, the older woman quickly released her and stepped back. Several seconds ticked by. Olivia managed a hesitant little half smile.

"It's so good to see you." She gestured toward the open door. "Please, come in."

"Are you sure it's _convenient_?"

As soon as the words cleared her lips Shalimar wished her tongue wasn't as quick as her reflexes. All during the long plane trip she kept going back to the video message her mother sent like a child picking at a scab, the dredged-up emotions putting her more and more on edge with each repetition. She tried to put it from her mind, but that turned out to be a waste of time. About all she could do was vow that she would not let her mother know how much the word stung, and yet with the first words out of her mouth she had done exactly that. So much for vows, she thought disgustedly.

Olivia winced as the barb struck home.

"I admit that probably wasn't the best choice of words. I just thought that, if you were wavering about staying here, the rationalization might tip the scales for you."

"You mean, give me an excuse?"

"Frankly, yes."

Why did everyone think she needed, or even wanted, an excuse to see her mother again? Shalimar was fuming as she stepped into the foyer. It wasn't like she was doing this for herself, after all, no matter what Jesse or Brennan said. This was all about taking one for the team, pure and simple. As for her answers – well, she had lived without them for seventeen years now. It wasn't as if she really cared what her mother had to say.

Olivia led her daughter into a tastefully furnished living room done in cream, gold and burgundy. Low bowls of fresh flowers graced an antique glass-topped coffee table and a pair of gleaming Ethan Allan end tables, their fragrance warring with the cloying lemon scent of furniture polish which had evidently been applied recently and with a fair amount of industry. Shalimar tried not to choke on the strong – to her - scents as she dropped her bag and purse beside the elegant coffee table. She sank into one of the overstuffed chairs of butter-soft burgundy leather, but kept her back ramrod straight. Her mother had taken a matching chair on the opposite side, her posture mirroring her daughter's. For a long moment silence reigned between them. Finally the older woman spoke.

"Your father was right – you've grown into a beautiful woman."

"You might have seen that for yourself if you had bothered to come to his funeral."

Olivia's spine stiffened perceptibly, her chin lifting.

"Yes, I suppose I would have – if I had known about it. Gene and I were out of the country at the time. When we got back a week later there was a message from Nicholas on our answering machine telling me that you went to see him, about your visit to his office. He sounded so thrilled. Then when I tried calling him back his housekeeper told me what happened."

'Gene' would be Eugene Sheffield, the man her mother married after her divorce from Nicholas Fox. Shalimar remembered her father mentioning the name in passing. He said the man was a successful venture capitalist, and that his ex-wife seemed happy. How happy was she now to be confronted by this blast from her past, the daughter that she all but disowned all those years ago?

Olivia tried once more to break the ice.

"I can't tell you how much I've missed you."

Shalimar made no effort to keep the coolness from her voice.

"Really? It took you long enough to tell me."

"Until recently I had no idea how to contact you," Olivia countered, "We tried to find you; we never stopped searching for you after you ran away. Private investigators, missing child organizations, runaway outreach - we explored every avenue we knew to try to find you."

"Why – so you could lock me up again?"

Olivia jerked sharply as if she had been slapped. Her cheeks reddened fiercely, and some of the fire she bequeathed to her daughter shot to the fore.

"I understand your bitterness, your hostility," she said tightly, "What happened to you was truly horrific, and I've lived with the regret every single day of my life since then. So did your father." Her voice began to tremble, and she looked like she was trying with all of her might to maintain her composure. "But just so you know, you weren't the only one who suffered!"

Seeing her mother pull a linen handkerchief edged in lace from her pocket and use it to daub at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Shalimar had the grace to be ashamed of herself. One of the things she remembered about her mother was her calm self-possession in a crisis. Thinking about it, she couldn't recall ever seeing her mother in tears. Before her now was the woman in the video, her face pale and drawn and showing her age in fine lines. It had obviously been tough on her, all those years of searching for her daughter, of not knowing if she was alive or dead. It might even have caused her marriage to break up; Nicholas Fox had hinted as much. And now that they were together again, Shalimar never gave Olivia a chance to speak the words she had been longing to hear, to tell her daughter how sorry she was for what happened. Instead, Shalimar started sniping at her as soon as the door opened. And to top it off, her accusations were unjust. She went to her mother and knelt beside her, placing a slender hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little tense."

Her mother gave her a half smile tinged with sadness and patted the hand on her arm.

"Me, too. But we've got a lot to talk about, and if we start apologizing now we'll never get through it." She rose, and Shalimar automatically did likewise. "Why don't I show you to your room so you can freshen up? I'm sure you must be dying for a shower after your flight." Olivia started across the living room. Shalimar picked up her bag and purse and followed her down a side hallway to a spacious bed/sitting room at the end of the hall decorated in shades of blue. Shalimar dropped her things onto the queen-sized bed.

"When you're ready, you'll find me in the kitchen," Olivia said, grasping the knob to pull the door closed behind her, "We're on our own tonight. Gene is in Los Angeles and won't be back until tomorrow."

Shalimar pushed her hair back from her brow and tilted her chin, letting the shower spray rinse the soapy water from the top of her head down her supple back. All things considered, her first meeting with her mother went off fairly well. Prickly, to be sure, but it could have been a lot worse. Her remorse over their separation was genuine, and it was plain to see that guilt had taken its toll over the years. Shalimar was willing to cut her some slack, especially since she had to admit that her own behavior hadn't exactly been what one could call stellar.

She turned off the water, wrung out her hair and stepped out of the shower. _Some_ slack, she admonished herself. Let's not forget that _she_ was the one thrown into that mental institution for so-called treatment to make her 'normal'. Don't forget that the woman never came to see her all those months while she was locked up, and her father only a couple of times. Dr. Ames, the psychologist in charge of her case, was apologetic when he gave her their excuse, which was that they didn't want to interfere with her therapy. She knew from his manner that he didn't buy it, either.

_Therapy_. Shalimar bristled all over at the thought of it. What a nice, safe, bland word for the drugs and ritual beatings designed to break her spirit and force her into some kind of obedient, squashed-down shell of a child that fit their definition of 'normal'. Whatever it took. Shalimar overheard her father speak those very words to Dr. Ames outside her door the last time he visited. She actually collapsed, the unfathomable horror of his betrayal freezing her heart in her breast and robbing her legs of any strength or feeling. She remained like that for hours, her world shattered into a thousand shards of glass, crumpled in a heap until the pain of cramping muscles forced its way through her shock and disbelief.

Shalimar gave herself a mental shake to dispel the bad memories. That was then, this is now. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past. She shut down the hair dryer, absently finger-fluffing her long mane. She was just reaching for the plug when a tantalizing scent tickled her nostrils. Recognition of the source made her heart warm. Pot roast, she decided, with onions and basil and … She sniffed. Yes, there it was. That hint of ginger. Although she had eaten pot roast many times since then, no one besides her mother ever made it like that. The aroma she was picking up now was one she hadn't smelled since her childhood.

After dressing she followed her nose through the penthouse suite to the large, fully-equipped kitchen. Her mother stood at a curved work island in the center of the room, chopping potatoes into bite-sized pieces on a cutting board. Olivia looked up when her daughter entered and regarded her appraisingly, trying to gauge her mood.

Shalimar wasn't surprised at her caution. After all, every one of her mother's overtures so far had been met with anger and resentment. Cooking this meal, a favorite from her childhood, was another such attempt, and it was plain to see that she was on tenterhooks to see how it would be received. Shalimar slid onto a bar stool on the other side of the island.

"Wow," she said with a fond smile, "I'd forgotten just how wonderful that smelled." She inhaled again deeply, savoring the aroma. Not only was there pot roast, but it looked like there would also be mashed potatoes, no doubt with the special gravy that only her mother could make. Shalimar had tried to duplicate it a few times over the years, but never quite succeeded. Perhaps before this visit was over she could get the recipe.

Seeing the younger woman's softened posture, Olivia expelled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and the tense set of her shoulders eased. Setting her knife down on the block, she wiped her hands on the dish towel tucked into the waistband of her full apron and picked up an open bottle of expensive Bordeaux set aside on the butcher block countertop. She started pouring it into the empty one of the two wine glasses beside it until it was half full, considered a moment, and then added another generous dollop. She then passed the glass to her daughter.

"Here – something tells me that we're both going to need this."

Shalimar couldn't help but smile at that.

"You're probably right." She waited for the older woman to retrieve her own. The two glasses clinked.

"Cheers."

Olivia set her glass down and went back to cutting up potatoes. Shalimar watched her in silence. It was in her mind to offer to help with the meal's preparation, but she really couldn't see where her help was needed at the moment. As usual, her organized mother had everything well in hand. Besides, cooking this meal was Olivia's way of trying to build a bridge between them. Shalimar sensed that, and that it was important to her that she be allowed to do this on her own, to make the homecoming perfect. This nonverbal communication, how it was offered and how it was received, was just as important a step in their reconciliation as any words spoken tonight, and both seemed to instinctively understand this. It was a gift of sorts, one that touched Shalimar's heart, and she knew she had to accept it as it was given. Later she would help with the cleanup, in that way accepting the olive branch and at the same time building her own part of the bridge.

Olivia went to a lower cabinet and retrieved a saucepan and lid. She set it down beside the cutting board and spoke into the silence.

"It's awkward, isn't it – being together again for the first time after all these years?"

"Considering the last time we saw each other I was being dragged out the door in a straitjacket?" Shalimar acknowledged the truth of that with an ironic tilt of her head, but there was far less heat in the words than there was before. Maybe some of her bitterness had been washed away in the shower. "Yeah, a bit."

Olivia looked up from the cutting board.

"Is that all you remember?"

Shalimar took a swallow of wine. "Isn't that enough?"

"From your point of view at that age I'm sure it was." Olivia scooped the cut-up potatoes into the pot, then wiped her hands once again on the towel and addressed her daughter forthrightly. "But you're not a child anymore. You're old enough to understand that sometimes there are things beneath the surface."

The feral set her glass down slowly and very carefully on the countertop.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember anything of that night before the police came?"

The question took Shalimar completely off guard. She never thought about the way that night started. Her nightmares had always centered on the police coming, of tackling her, of stuffing her into the heavy canvas restraint, of screaming and screaming as they hauled her away. Everything else had been blotted out. But now in response to her mother's pointed question and the sudden eerie presentiment that this was important, she closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly, evenly, pulling her focus inward as she concentrated.

All at once she was ten again, sitting by the window in her night-darkened bedroom, a light breeze riffling the filmy curtains. It was late, well past her bedtime, but she couldn't sleep. The moon was a shining beacon, full and round and ringed with blue. From time to time she paced restlessly back and forth across her room, her fuzzy cat slippers making only the softest sound on the carpet, but she always ended up back at the window, drawn there by something she couldn't identify, only feel. It was as if the darkness itself was calling her, whispering secret things into her awakening ears.

The breeze began to freshen, bringing with it a rich panorama of scents and sounds. She breathed them in deeply. There was something different about tonight, like the first hint of a storm approaching, something compelling and mysterious and almost wild. She let it fill her up, felt it flow through her, gripping her heart and soul with its siren song. _Come with me_, it seemed to whisper. _Come with me and learn my secrets. _

Then down below a flicker of movement caught her eye. A cat had been picking its way across the back yard with silent grace. It paused just at the edge of moonlight, its tail twitching, its attention suddenly attracted by something unseen. Then in a flash its demeanor changed from strolling pet to prowling predator. It lengthened out and began to creep forward, stalking whatever prey it discovered. Shalimar was enthralled. Her pulse quickened until she could hear her heart pounding wildly in her breast. She had never felt like this before. Her whole being was caught up in the hunt, as if she had become one with the cat, feeling the building anticipation in each stealthy, velvet tread of its paws on the grass. It crouched low on its haunches, gathering itself for the fatal spring. Shalimar felt her entire body tightening with it. She forgot to breathe.

The cat pounced, and Shalimar felt an almost euphoric joy burst inside her. Suddenly it was all crystal clear in her mind. This was what that strange restlessness was all about. She needed to be out in the night. She was so filled with the epiphany of the moment that she didn't hear the door open; she was too busy raising the screen panel so she could get out and drink in the magic of the night. One pajama-clad leg was flung over the window sill. The light snapped on.

"Shalimar!"

Manicured hands grabbed her and started pulling her back inside. Shalimar reacted on pure instinct. Golden fire flashed in her eyes as her wild side suddenly burst forth. She threw off the meager restraint, whatever it was, with a power and ease that belied her ten-year-old frame. Without a backward glance she slipped over the sill. Landing in the thick grass with the surefooted ease of a lynx, she kicked off her impeding bedroom slippers and sped off into the welcoming arms of darkness and the adventure that awaited her.

That was the first time her feral nature really showed itself, Shalimar reflected, although she didn't fully realize it at the time. All she knew was that she felt like she belonged here, out in the night with the other wild creatures. For the first time in her life she felt alive and free.

An hour later, tired but thoroughly happy, the girl returned home, intending to climb up the rose trellis and sneak back through her bedroom window with no one the wiser. That childlike hope came crashing down almost immediately. As she approached the back of her house her enhanced hearing began picking up the scratchy sounds of two-way radios. She crept to the corner and peeked around. A pair of police cars and even an ambulance were parked in front, their red lights flashing.

Shalimar was filled with a sinking feeling of dread. Great. Her mother must have discovered that she was missing and panicked. She was in for it now. She'd probably be grounded for at least a month for causing all this trouble. For a moment she wondered if she could sneak back in her window and pretend she was in the bathroom or something when her mother found her gone. Nah –they'd never buy it; she had been gone too long. Shalimar signed heavily. At least her dad was out of town; he would have _really_ freaked out. Mom was usually the calmer of the two. Keeping to the shadows, moving with the natural stealth of a prowling wolf, she made her way across the yard unseen and slipped in the back door. Voices could be heard coming from the center of the house, authoritative voices and the sound of people moving about. Reluctantly, the girl stole through the kitchen toward the sounds.

The living room was full of policemen milling around; her mother was sitting in an armchair being tended by a team of paramedics. Gulping hard, Shalimar nervously stepped inside.

"Mom?"

That was when the nightmare began. A half dozen heads swiveled. One of the police officers started easing up to her, step by step, holding out his hand in a fatherly manner and speaking in the low, soothing tones one would use when trying to coax a skittish puppy. Bewildered, the girl stood stock still. She heard his words, but they didn't make any sense. There was no stern rebuke, no demand to know where she had been. And there was something wrong with his approach. Shalimar didn't know what it was, but it was enough to make her wary. Her eyes flashed with cat-like amber, visibly startling everyone in the room. The cop moved closer. She backed up a cautious step, and then another. Another police officer started sidling in from the other side. That was enough for Shalimar. Reacting purely on instinct she turned to run, but a third cop had snuck through the kitchen and was coming up behind her. After that everything became a blur as she leaped over chairs to escape lunging arms of navy blue, upsetting end tables and sending fragile knickknacks crashing as they tried to close in on her. Crying and terrified out of her wits, she fought back frantically with all her untrained strength, until one of them managed to grapple her legs. The next thing she knew they were all on her, pinning her down. She flailed wildly, trying to break free.

_"Damn! What is this kid on?"_

_ "She'll stroke out if she keeps this up! Give her a shot!_

_ "We can't risk it! Get the jacket!"_

She felt the coarse scrape of canvas against her skin as her arms were thrust roughly into the straitjacket and the ends secured. She lashed out with her feet, trying to kick her way free, but two of them grabbed her ankles while a third quickly wound medical wrap around them. Then large hands seized her; they were dragging her toward the door. And all the while she was screaming and crying hysterically while her mother did nothing…..

Shalimar came back to the present with a jolt. She had always tried to avoid thinking about that night, so it came as a shock to her at how much detail had been locked up in her memory. The panting exclamations of the cops as they fought to subdue her suddenly became clear, and with it came a thunderbolt of understanding.

"You thought I was on drugs," she accused through a suddenly tight throat. The searing hurt of that revelation surprised her with its intensity. How could her own mother have thought such a thing of her?

As bad as that was, though, a part of her was almost relieved. Throughout the years the lost little girl buried deep in her soul had clung desperately to the belief that it had all been some sort of horrible misunderstanding, that her parents hadn't rejected her because of her mutantcy. Thinking she was on drugs would explain a lot. It would also mean that they might have loved her after all.

That fantasy was shattered in the next instant when Olivia shook her head.

"The police thought that, but I knew you weren't."

Shalimar felt as if a dagger had just been plunged straight into her heart. So she had been right all along. And to think she had been starting to believe the fantasy that her past could be laid to rest. Deep inside her the child wailed in abject despair at the brutal shattering of that last naïve hope. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to swamp them.

"Why, Mom?" She wanted to say more, but her throat was suddenly so constricted she couldn't get the words out. _Why did you and Dad blame me for something that wasn't my fault? Why couldn't you love me for who I was?_

"Why did I call the police?" Olivia stared into the anguished eyes of her daughter incredulously, "Shalimar, you threw me aside like a rag doll and then jumped out a second story window! You might have been hurt, or you could have been running away. What did you think I would do?"

It was so blindingly simple.

Shalimar was struck speechless. All this time she had been fixated on the scene through the eyes of a ten year old child, her soul in torment over her mother's betrayal, and never once had it even entered her head to try to look at it through the lens of adult common sense. Her mutantcy aside, her mother acted as any other parent might with any normal child. That she never saw that filled her with a deep sense of shame and remorse.

Something thin and soft was stuffed into her curled fingers. Shalimar looked down to see that she was clutching a fresh pair of tissues. She swiped at her eyes and managed a tremulous smile.

Olivia watched the emotions flow across her daughter's face with a dawning sense of enlightenment. They had never had a chance to talk about that night, so she could never explain to her daughter why she did what she did. For weeks and months afterwards she spent her nights prowling restlessly, unable to sleep, agonizing over what happened and ripping her heart to shreds over what she could have done differently, and how lost and abandoned the girl must have felt. Her only comfort was the hope that with time and maturity Shalimar might have come to realize why she acted as she had. Evidently she hadn't.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the impression that explanation never occurred to you," she said. The strong flush of pink suffusing her daughter's cheeks was her answer. Hurt blazed through her at the realization that for all these years her own child could have thought her to be so monstrous. She could only imagine what Shalimar thought her motives were. Olivia downed a large swallow of wine, the burn in her throat as nothing to the acid splashing her heart. "That's probably because you haven't had a child of your own yet. When you do, you might understand how I felt when I saw you slide out that window."

To cover herself and the tears she felt starting once more in her own eyes, Olivia went to the sink and filled the saucepan with enough water to cover the potatoes. She then put the lid on and set the pan on the stove to boil. By the time she turned around again they had both regained some of their composure.

"I'm sorry," Shalimar managed in a guilt-stricken voice. She couldn't think of anything else to say. The size of the injustice she had done her mother was so enormous that it couldn't be put into words. How could she have missed something so obvious?

Olivia had to know. "What have you been thinking all this time?"

Shalimar looked up and answered honestly.

"That it was because of my mutation." She winced at the swift intake of breath and the pain that flashed across her mother's face. "Well, Dad never could accept it," she added defensively.

Olivia untied her apron and draped it on the counter.

"That was beside the point. You were still our child. We loved you."

She picked up her wine glass and strode out, not in a huff, but much more measured. Her body language was such that Shalimar understood the action was more because there were no further meal preparations to be made at the time than in offense to her words, wounding as they were. She took her own glass and slid off her stool to follow the other woman into the more comfortable living room. This interpretation seemed to be affirmed when this time Olivia settled herself not in a solitary chair with the coffee table as a physical barrier between them, but on the overstuffed sofa. Shalimar accepted the unspoken invitation and sat down at the other end facing her, curling one foot beneath her.

For the next couple of minutes they looked pretty much everywhere except at each other. Shalimar noticed that the flowers had vanished from the coffee table, and that the scent of lemon furniture polish wasn't nearly as potent as it was before; evidently her mother had belatedly remembered how well-developed her daughter's sense of smell was and had taken steps to dampen the pungent assault on her nose, a consideration the feral appreciated. Olivia herself seemed to be intensely interested in the structure of her wine glass. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to break the silence. Shalimar suppressed a sigh. What the hell — they couldn't sit here like this all night just drinking wine and avoiding each other's eyes. Someone would have to go first. She supposed it was her turn.

"You could have let me alone, you know," she said finally, "That night. I wasn't in any danger, and I wasn't running away. I just needed to be out in the night."

Olivia looked up from her deep contemplation of the Bordeaux with raised eyebrows.

"How was I supposed to know that? And even if I did, why in the world would you expect me to condone it – a ten year old girl running through the neighborhood in her pajamas in the middle of the night?"

"You knew I was different."

"Yes, but we didn't know at the time _how_ different," the other returned, "How could we, how could _anyone_ know? Who could have predicted that the treatment that saved your life would cause your genes to mutate the way they did? Certainly not the scientists at Genomex."

Olivia set her glass down on the table and faced her daughter earnestly.

"But we weren't scientists. We were just parents, with a child going through changes that were unheard of in the history of medical science. How could we have had any conception of what was happening to you, or the ramifications involved?" She shook her head. "All we could do was watch you struggle with things we couldn't comprehend, much less know how to deal with."

Some of the earlier tension crept back into Shalimar's posture as she remembered that time; all the battles, the anger, the shouting, and her own frustration and fear and loneliness. She set down her glass as well., and her gaze bored into the deep brown eyes so exactly like her own.

"You were watching it," she said, "But I was living it. You can't imagine what it was like, being so different from everyone else, and getting more so every day. You have no concept what it means to have to hide who you are while everything inside you is screaming to break free. You don't know what it means to be a freak."

Olivia swiftly and reflexively caught her daughter's hand and squeezed it sympathetically.

"Is that how you see yourself? As a freak?"

"Not anymore. I came to terms with my powers and my feral nature a long time ago." Thinking of what she went through until she was able to understand and accept her mutation, Shalimar felt her temper start to rise again. Maybe there were reasons for some of the things her parents did, but there was no excuse for throwing her into that hellhole of an institution and essentially tossing away the key. She slipped her hand free. "And you know what? I have friends who love and accept me for who I am. It's a shame that my own family couldn't do the same."

"We did the best we knew how at the time."

"Your 'best' included having me thrown into a psych ward!"

Olivia gestured helplessly. "We had to do something. Even at ten your strength surpassed that of a full grown man, and you weren't in control of it. You were so fast, too; you would lash out so suddenly. I took to wearing long sleeves even in summer to hide the bruises. Your father was even accused once of beating me."

Logic again – the basic common sense reaction of two people who knew they were out of their depth with a daughter who was wild in ways they couldn't even fathom. The wind once more taken out of her sails, Shalimar's rekindled outrage faded. She had to admit she had been a difficult child to raise, more than most others because of the changes going on in her mind and body that confused and terrified her. Sometimes that would include acting out physically, requiring one or the other of her parents to try to restrain her. What she didn't realize was the toll she was taking. Looking back, she remembered her mother wearing slacks and long sleeves when others were wearing shorts and sleeveless tops, and once in a while noticed that her makeup was heavier than usual, but just chalked it up as one of those weird parent things that kids had been shaking their heads over since the dawn of time. The real reason for the out-of-sync fashion statement never entered her head. Mortification made her cheeks redden once again. She hung her head.

"I'm sorry," she said miserably. God, that was so inadequate. "I had no idea I was hurting you."

"I know you didn't, Kitten," Olivia replied gently, and Shalimar looked up in surprise and gratification at the use of the childhood endearment. "You just didn't know your own strength. That was why we had to act. We were afraid that it was only a matter of time before you accidentally injured one of your classmates." Her expression begged for understanding. "Honey, we just couldn't take that chance."

Shalimar leaned against the back of the sofa, her thoughts in a whirl. A psychic weight the size of a mountain that she never even realized she was carrying fell from her shoulders. Her parents hadn't rejected her for her mutation after all. They had been trying to do what they thought was right for their daughter in the only way they knew. _You were right, Jesse,_ she thought, silently blessing her brother-in-spirit for his calm reason and insight. _There __**was**__ more going on than I knew – a lot more._ Yet even as her heart felt so much lighter than she would have thought possible just yesterday, still the warm glow she felt toward her mother now was tinged with sadness, not just for herself but for all of them, for all those wasted years and the suffering that didn't have to be.

"I wish we could have had this conversation years ago," she said ruefully. How different her life would have been! And yet, if she had been able to take that other path, she would have missed out on just as much – Adam and Emma, Jesse and Brennan, and a lifestyle that challenged and fulfilled her, and allowed her to be who she was. She would not be the woman she was today, confident, powerful, and comfortable in her own skin. _Life is a trade-off,_ her father used to say in his somewhat gruff fashion, and although she never really understood what he was talking about at the time, she couldn't help but think now that truer words were never spoken.

"So do I," her mother sighed, "God knows we wanted to. Every time we came to visit we hoped you had calmed down enough to allow us to see you, to talk to you. But you were so angry, so bitter, claiming that we betrayed you. You even tore up my letters unread. I suppose I can't really blame you, thinking the way I now know you did, but I can't help wishing you hadn't refused to see us. It would have saved us all so much heartache."

Shalimar knew her mouth had fallen open, but she was too astonished to think of doing anything about it. She stared at Olivia as if she had suddenly grown another head

"Who told you that?" she demanded when she could find her tongue again, "Dr. Ames?"

Olivia regarded her with bewilderment, puzzled at Shalimar's sudden agitation. She got the feeling she was missing something.

"Let me see – Dr. Ames was the one in charge of your treatment, wasn't he? A young, auburn-haired man with a moustache, as I recall."

"That's him. Did he tell you I didn't want to see you?"

"Yes, and the consultant they brought in from Genomex concurred. Dr. Kane was already gone by that time. This was a tall, thin man. I think his name was….Harris? No – Harrison. Dr. Kenneth Harrison."

Shalimar stiffened as if she had been struck by lightning. Then shock gave way to towering rage, making her eyes flash with molten fire.

"Those filthy, lying bastards!"

Now it all made sense. Harrison worked for Mason Eckhart, which in turn meant that the psychiatric institution her parents put her in was a secret subsidiary of Genomex. They undoubtedly recognized right away what they were dealing with, and so proceeded to lie to everyone, telling her that her parents didn't want to see her because she wasn't 'normal', while telling her parents that Shalimar didn't want to see them. They wanted to isolate her from her family so they could mold her into what they wanted her to be – a powerful, obedient weapon they could use to do their bidding, most likely to hunt down and capture other mutants. It might have worked, too, if they hadn't underestimated how fast her powers were growing. In the end she thwarted them by fighting back and escaping that hellhole. Feeling betrayed by the parents she thought couldn't love her for who she was, she sought refuge on the streets, living by her wits as best she could, until the day Adam Kane found her and brought her home to Sanctuary.

"Shalimar?"

Her mother was watching her uncertainly, even warily, as if she expected her volatile daughter to explode at any moment. Shalimar discovered that every muscle in her body was wire-taut, her fingers digging into the sofa cushion so fiercely that her knuckles were stark white. Right then and there she made herself a promise. As soon as she got back to Sanctuary she would institute a search for Dr. Ames, and when she found him she was going to take great pleasure in ripping his living heart out and stuffing it down his deceitful throat. As for Harrison…..!

"Shalimar, what's wrong?"

"Seventeen years, that's what's wrong!"

Olivia just stared at her, uncomprehending. Shalimar took several deep breaths, trying to dampen down the volcano erupting in her soul. With an effort she forced fingers curled into talons to release their death grip on the leather cushion. She fastened her gaze on the woman who bore her.

"They lied," she said in a low, tight voice, "I never refused to see you. In fact, I would have given my right arm to see you."

Olivia's mouth formed an 'O' of shock and disbelief.

"But _why_?"

Where to begin? Shalimar supposed she could tell her mother the whole story about Genomex, Dr. Breedlove, and Mason Eckhart; about Adam and Mutant X, about fighting for their lives and the lives of other mutants against the GSA, and now about The Dominion. _Yeah, right! She'd think you flipped out! _

"They knew I was a mutant," she said finally, opting for a shorter and much more sanitized explanation, "They wanted to separate me from you so that they could use me for their own ends."

"Is that why you ran away?"

Shalimar was all set to ask her what else she could have expected under the circumstances, but stopped as another startling thought slammed into her brain. The truth burst on her in a sudden dazzling revelation.

"You didn't know, did you?"

Olivia frowned.

"Know what?"

"About their so-called treatment."

"What about it?" Olivia's confusion was too real to be artificial. "It was a holistic approach, they said, experimental and very hands-on, but they were seeing excellent results in the first trials. It was expensive, but your father told them to do whatever it took to help you. You were too high-strung to respond well at first, so they asked permission to start you on some mild tranquilizers."

So that's what her father was talking about. Shalimar closed her eyes. She should have known better than to think they sanctioned the institution's torture. Olivia seized her shoulders in a forceful grip.

"What happened, Shalimar?" she demanded, "What went on that we didn't know about?"

It was strange, Shalimar thought distantly. She had played this scene in her mind so many times over the years, of confronting her parents and flinging her accusations at them about all the drugs they pumped into her to no avail, and about the repeated beatings she suffered until she finally turned the tables on her attackers and escaped. How hollow that all was now. She had no wish to inflict any more guilt or pain on her mother, so she just shrugged.

"It doesn't matter any more," she said dismissingly, but Olivia would not let it go.

"Shalimar…"

It was amusing after all this time to hear that stern, parental tone drawing out the syllables of her name, the one that was used to her chagrin whenever she got busted committing some infraction. It was usually followed by something to the effect of _And just what have you been up to, young lady?_ said over crossed arms and repeated implacably until she got answers. Shalimar almost smiled because it reminded her of simpler times, when the worst she had to worry about was explaining the hole in the knee of her new jeans, or why she was outside playing when her homework wasn't done yet.

But that was another era, and Shalimar had no intention now of telling her mother what really happened. For one thing, there wasn't anything Olivia could do about it at this point, and for another, Shalimar was reserving any kind of payback against Ames and Harrison for herself. Instead, in part to distract her mother from the subject she knew the older woman would keep coming back to, she asked another question that had been plaguing her during the flight to San Francisco.

"Mom - what happened between you and Dad?"

Olivia fierceness faded. "I guess the same thing that happens to other people," she said after a moment, looking down at her hands. The nonchalance she tried to project failed miserably. "It was just a couple of years after you ran away. We were already drifting apart by that time. Your father was spending more and more time at the office, trying to build the business. I think he immersed himself in his company as a way to deal with the other pressures."

Shalimar had to know.

"Did it have anything to do with me?"

Olivia sighed, her shoulders slumping dispiritedly, "I suppose you might have been the final straw, in an indirect way. Not for anything you did or your mutation per se, just that you were gone. It broke open stress fractures that were there already. Maybe they were always there, I don't know. What I do know is that you were the glue that held us together, perhaps because, first when you were born and then when you got sick, all of our energy was directed toward you, on getting you through that first crisis. When the treatment worked and you were alive, we were so happy. Those were the good years."

It occurred to Shalimar that her mother had earlier mentioned a treatment that saved her life, but she missed it in light of what else was going on.

"What was wrong with me?" she asked. She knew that a great many of the children who eventually became mutants were originally brought to Genomex to deal with serious health issues. Evidently she was one of those. What caused her parents to take her to Adam in the first place? She realized she didn't know; had never even wondered. The only thing she did know was that her medical records at Sanctuary only went back to when Adam first found her, at around the age of thirteen. She marveled now that she never thought to ask him what the animal DNA he crossed with her own was intended to cure.

Olivia hesitated and looked away. Her features seemed to close, becoming bleak and strained. "Yes, I suppose it's time you knew everything."

She picked up her glass of wine and took a fortifying swallow. She stared into the shimmering liquid for a long time, gathering her thoughts. When she finally began speaking the words came haltingly, as if they had to be dredged up one at a time from where they had been buried in the depths of her heart.

"When you were just a few months old you were diagnosed with an auto-immune disease that has popped up from time to time on my side of the family. It's … almost always fatal. We had just about given up hope when we heard about the gene therapies that were being developed at Genomex. We took you there as a last resort, to Dr. Kane, and he cured you."

"A cure with unexpected consequences." Shalimar knew that part of the story. Olivia nodded.

"I didn't care about that part," she said. She held the wine glass cupped in both hands, her head bowed. "All I cared about was that you were alive and well. Even after your genes began to mutate, all that mattered to me was that you were alive and well." She managed a wan little smile. "A healthy and active and happy little girl."

"But if he knew Adam cured me, why did Dad hate him so much?" It was a question Shalimar never could understand. "Would he have preferred me dead over being a mutant?"

"Of course not!" Olivia's head shot up fiercely, "Despite what you may think, your father was a good man. Your mutation was just so far outside anything he ever experienced. He simply couldn't relate. The only way he could cope was to blame someone else. Dr. Kane got picked because, to his credit, Nicholas refused to blame me, even though it was all my fault."

Shalimar gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

"Just because the disease came from your side of the family? That's not something you had any control over."

"That, and because I was the one who insisted on taking you to Genomex. Your father was resistant to the idea because gene therapy was so new and controversial, but in the end he agreed. You see, he knew I couldn't bear to go through it again."

A sudden premonition gripped Shalimar, making every nerve suddenly feel electrified. She went very still.

"What do you mean, 'again'?" she whispered.

Silent tears spilled from Olivia's eyes, leaving wet trails down her cheeks, and her face was a mask of pure pain.

"That same disease took your brother."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

_ I had a brother?_

Shalimar was aware that her chin was practically scraping the sofa cushions, but her brain was so locked up she couldn't think coherently enough to do anything about it. Her thoughts scattered like tenpins smashed into by a bowling ball, tumbling so chaotically that it barely registered when Olivia rose and brushed past her. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the shattering revelation.

_I had a brother._ Being an only child was all she had ever known; it never occurred to her that she might have had a sibling. At no time during her life had she ever felt the sense of absence that one reads about in such instances, like that of a missing twin or something. By the time she reached the age where she might have begun to wonder about such things, the changes sparked by her budding mutation commanded all her attention. She used to think sometimes about what it would be like to have a younger brother or sister, especially when she interacted with her friends' families, but that was as far as she got. Eventually she came to the conclusion that her parents probably thought they had enough on their hands dealing with their mutating daughter without doubling down with another child. Case closed.

But this was an older child, one she knew nothing about, lost to tragedy. Shalimar reached for her wine glass, and in her stunned state took a bigger gulp than she intended. The surge of alcohol blazed over her taste buds and bit sharply into the unsuspecting tissues of her mouth and throat, nearly choking her. She sputtered in reaction, her eyes watering. Opening her mouth, she breathed deeply in an effort to cool the burn. As she recovered, she found that the unexpected jolt did manage to jar some of the shock from her brain. Gradually, a sense of clarity began to seep in, bringing order to her muddled thoughts.

Some things from her childhood were beginning to make sense now. Most kids thought that their parents were overly strict, but it always seemed to Shalimar that hers … well, _hovered_ more than most, that they tended to hold on so tightly that at times she felt positively smothered, wrapped up in cotton wool until she nearly screamed in frustration, nearly exploded with the need to break out of the gilded cage they kept her in. She had always assumed that her mutantcy was behind it; that they were afraid she would display her 'abnormality' to their friends and neighbors. That was certainly part of it – maybe a large part – but knowing what she did now; about their firstborn, her own early illness, and later their fears once her powers began to manifest, she could more readily understand why her parents held onto her as tightly as they did.

A stinging sensation in the pads of her fingers made Shalimar realize that she was gripping the fine stemware so firmly it was a wonder it didn't shatter in her hand. With an effort she eased up on her hold. The rich, full body of the expensive vintage was muted on her still-scorched tongue, but she barely noticed. Now that she could think again, scores of questions pelted into her brain.

_Why didn't they tell me?_ That was the most immediate thought, but even as it leaped into her mind Shalimar knew the answer. The pain in her mother's face even after the passage of decades spoke more plainly than any words could have about the terrible anguish and grief they must have suffered. It was no wonder that neither one could bring themselves to broach the subject with their daughter, even if she had been old enough to understand. Her father wouldn't have, that's for sure. Men in his era didn't talk about things like that; they just sucked it up and went on. Olivia had always taken her cue from him, just like a lot of other women her age. That was the way they were brought up. Maybe if Shal hadn't run away she might eventually have been told, but like so many other 'what-ifs' in her life, there was no way she could ever know.

What would he have been like? What if he had gotten the same treatment, and mutated as she did? How different might her life have been if she had a feral older brother, someone who understood the changes she was going through, someone she could share things with, because he had gone through them as well? Or, given all the difficulty her parents had in dealing with a single mutant child, if he had survived, would she have even been born?

Shalimar lifted her wine glass again and brought it to her lips. To her surprise, no liquid flowed. Glancing down, she saw that it was empty, although she had no recollection of finishing off the last swallow. It was no wonder, really, considering her mind-blown state. She walked back to the kitchen where the Bordeaux stood on the counter, and filled her glass nearly to the brim. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the neck of the bottle, then she picked it up and carried it back with her.

The living room was still empty. Shalimar refilled Olivia's glass and set the bottle beside it on the coffee table, then sat down carefully, her own glass cradled in her hand. A mellowing warmth was gradually spreading outward from her belly, a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves. Olivia could probably use some of this right about now. Should she take the wine to the bedroom where she could hear her mother moving around? Shal considered the matter at length. Probably not, she decided. No doubt the older woman would prefer having a few moments of privacy to collect herself; Shal knew that was the way she herself would feel. In that, as with a number of other things, they were alike. Olivia would return when she was ready. The feral leaned back into the luxurious embrace of the burgundy sofa, sipping her Bordeaux in pensive silence.

Olivia had lost her first-born son to a terrible illness. What must that have been like for her? Never having conceived and carried a child of her own, experienced that special bond formed when a woman felt the small life growing inside her and then gave birth to that life, Shalimar couldn't even begin to fathom the terror, the gut-wrenching despair of going from doctor to doctor, of clinging to any desperate straw she could find, while watching her son waste away until finally death claimed him. Then when Shalimar came along and contracted the same sickness, the nightmare started all over again. Shalimar could easily understand what drove her mother to insist on taking her to Genomex.

To Adam, who cured her. He never told her, either. He must have known about her brother; he would have gotten an extensive medical history from her parents before designing the therapy that saved her life and gifted her with mutant powers. Adam had been in many respects her second father. Why then, when it became clear that she wanted nothing more to do with her parents, hadn't he told her? She pondered that, letting the possibilities swirl in her mind. Maybe he thought she already knew. Or barring that, he may have thought that it wasn't his place to tell her, and then there was the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing. On the other hand, Adam was a man of many secrets, and he was supremely good at keeping them. Who could say what his reasoning might have been, or for that matter, what else he hadn't told her?

That line of thought was cut off when Olivia returned, carrying a shallow box with a gold-tinted lid. Her eyes were a little puffy, and she had acquired a fresh handkerchief, but she looked fairly composed. She sat down next to her daughter and removed the lid.

It was a small baby book nestled in worn scraps of white tissue paper. The pastel blue bow on the front was flattened and faded, and there were round, tear-sized spots staining the smudged satin cover. Shalimar's eyes misted. Something inside her clenched, and a fierce ache gripped her heart. She was about to meet the brother she never knew she had. The tissue paper crinkled as Olivia parted it and lifted the book from the box with trembling hands.

"I haven't looked at this in years," she confessed. Shalimar didn't need to ask why. She scrunched closer as Olivia opened the cover, her fingers light, even caressing, on the worn fabric, and spread it between them. Shalimar peered at name written in fancy black script.

"Garrett Nicholas Fox," she read in a hushed voice.

Olivia nodded.

"He was named after your paternal grandfather," she said, "It was a tradition – the first-born son was named after the father's side, the first-born daughter after the mother's. The grandfather he was named for died in the war when Nicholas was very young; that's why you never knew him."

Shalimar looked at her mother, her eyebrows arched inquiringly.

"There's someone on your side of the family named Shalimar?"

Olivia's lips twitched in a faint smile.

"No, I broke tradition – but that's another story."

She turned the page to the first picture, a hospital photograph of a red-faced infant wrapped in a pale blue receiving blanket. The few wisps of hair crowning his head appeared to be light in color, but it was hard to tell for sure from the aged image. Shalimar touched it lightly, reverently.

"Tell me about him," she whispered, "Tell me about my brother. Everything you can remember."

Olivia's smile was soft, almost ethereal, and her eyes took on a misty, faraway look. She clasped her daughter's hand and squeezed gently.

"Garrett was four years older than you, and like you he inherited his father's temper…"

They sat there on the sofa for a long time, their two blond heads close together as they pored over the album and Olivia shared stories of the little one lost. With hugs and a few tears mother and daughter reconnected, and though there was sadness and grief for all the pain and wasted years, there was still a lightness blooming in Shalimar's heart that she never dreamed was possible only yesterday. After all these years, she had finally come home.

Brennan's head fell back against the headboard of his bed with a frustrated groan, laying the book of poetry he had been trying to read for the last half hour spread out across his thigh. Usually he could count on Walt Whitman to soothe his rambunctious spirit whenever it got restless, but tonight even that was proving useless. So had the vigorous workout an hour before, the subsequent shower, and even his favorite single-malt whiskey, a half-empty glass of which was sitting beside a freshly-opened bottle on the desktop beside him. None of the usual remedies were having any effect on his tangled state of mind. Knowing exactly what was bothering him was no consolation, either. In fact, it made his agitation worse because at the moment there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Shalimar.

There had been an ulterior motive in his mind when he lured her out onto the mountain yesterday. Sanctuary was huge, its common areas spacious and open to combat the naturally claustrophobic feeling of living a couple of hundred feet underground, but that also made it a highly visible place. With four people rattling around in it most of the time, privacy wasn't exactly an abundant commodity. The mountainside, however, particularly in the stand of woods where he set out his snare, was much more to his purpose, and in a number of ways.

It was time to take their relationship to the next level.

He had been thinking that for a while now; it seemed inevitable to him that they would become lovers at some point. The chemistry had been there from the start, but the fact that they were not only housemates but teammates, with their lives dependant upon split-second decisions in battle, made them hesitant to add the possibly messy complication of a more personal relationship between two admittedly volatile personalities. That didn't stop them from being drawn to each other; on the contrary, it was because their spirits were alike in many ways that they intuitively understood what made the other tick. The physical attraction continued to grow as well, and although both recognized it, neither one would come right out and admit it for fear of screwing up what they already had. Instead they tacitly circled around it with light-hearted flirting and double-entendre remarks, sparring and some horseplay, a sort of dancing-on-the-razor game that acknowledged the sparks between them but kept them just short of crossing the line. Lately, though, Brennan felt that the pull had been intensifying. They had been gravitating to each other more and more, both in work and in quieter moments around Sanctuary, and it seemed that when they were together there was a palpable feeling of electricity in the air, a sort of tingle that had nothing to do with his elemental powers and everything to do with the increasing magnetism between them.

He knew Shalimar felt it too. Her little touches on his arm, face or body had become more common and more lingering; she was comfortable with the casual drape of his arm around her shoulders or waist, and would unconsciously fit herself to him, or lean back into his embrace when he stood or sat behind her as the team discussed strategy. For his part it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the sweet feel of her body melting against his, or to keep his hands from straying to the lush curves they itched to explore. Still he vacillated, because he knew instinctively that once they started down that path, there would be no turning back, and he wasn't sure he was ready for everything that entailed. Now, though, with the threat from the Dominion growing and the future of Mutant X becoming more uncertain with each passing day, all the doubts and denial, at least on his side, faded into mist. He came to the realization that he didn't want to wait any longer.

He wanted her.

Brennan picked up the glass of whiskey and drained it, feeling the fiery bite of the liquor merge with the turmoil blazing in his mind. _Wanted_, _hell!_ he snorted to himself derisively. That was far too tame a word for the gnawing hunger, the searing desire building inside him, to the point where the thought of making love to Shalimar, to experience the wildness of her passion and return it with his own, was stretching his self-control to the breaking point and playing havoc with his sleep. Something had to give, and soon.

But was she ready to take that step? He rather thought she was, or at least pretty close. It was his impression that, like him, she was only wavering because she didn't want to jeopardize what they already had. It was equally possible that she was in as much denial as he had been, or she could simply be waiting for him to make the first move.

It was time to find out, which was the other reason why he took such care in setting up his trap on the mountain. First of all, it was Shalimar's natural setting. All of her senses would be keyed up. Second and most importantly, dragging her out on the mountain when she was short on sleep would make her react impulsively, without thinking. Getting caught in his snare would make her angry, and when Shalimar got angry, she got physical. Brennan reasoned that from there it was only a short step to passion. All he had to do then was let nature take its course. To admit to the blatant truth, in typical male fashion he was using their little contest as a form of foreplay.

His plan had worked to perfection. Wrestling in the leaves like that, then feeling the warm weight of her lithe body stretched out on top of his, had him half aroused, and he knew without question that he wasn't the only one. When he gently removed the leaf from her golden hair, he saw the playful gleam in her eyes transform to something almost startled before her body recognized what was happening and the embers within leaped to the fore. Her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink, and he could almost hear the sizzle of sexual energy between them. He was bringing his hand back up to bury it in her silken curls, to draw her into his kiss, when Jesse – damn his lousy timing! - called over the comlink.

_Stop it!_ Brennan shook his head in self-disgust. Ignoring the glass this time, he grabbed the whisky bottle by the neck, savagely unscrewed the cap, and took a hefty pull. _Cut the macho crap and be honest_. He wasn't a green kid with out-of-control hormones. Raging, yes, but this wasn't about lust. There was more to it – much more. Lust didn't even begin to describe the soul-deep sense of connection he had with her, as evidenced in the way they so often communicated without words, like yesterday when they came back in from the mountain. There was also the sense of contentment that permeated his being whenever he was with her. That Shalimar excited him in so many ways he already acknowledged, but the difference was that she excited his mind and heart as well as his body. She was like no other woman he had ever known; smart and fun, incredibly powerful and devastatingly sexy. She could go from kitten to tiger, or vice versa, in the space between heartbeats, something that never failed to intrigue and captivate him. He also admired her strength of character, her loyalty, and her incredible mental toughness. Even more, she had seen him in some of his weakest moments without turning a hair. In retrospect, the fact that he was okay with her seeing him in that state should have been the telltale clue.

Then yesterday Shal trusted him with her own vulnerability. Holding her like that while she cried sent his emotions churning in ways they never had before. He bled for her, felt possessive and protective and a host of things he couldn't identify even now. She hadn't been wrong when she said she'd done a number on him, although not in the way she thought. It was seeing the pain she was in that sent a white-hot iron stabbing through his gut. Her hot tears hadn't just dampened his shirt, they soaked straight through his skin and melted the last crumbling bricks in the wall of denial surrounding his heart. That was why he had such an odd look on his face when he approached her to get a fresh shirt. The blast of revelation that just exploded in his brain had been so blinding that it took his breath away. It was then that he finally admitted to himself what his subconscious had been whispering to him for weeks.

He was in love with her.

Some part of him dimly wondered what had taken him so long to realize what was happening. The signs were all there; the increased physical closeness, his worry over her forays into the night to satisfy her feral need to hunt, and the mounting battle to restrain his surging protective instincts. There was even the fact that he subconsciously compared all other women to her and found them wanting. Riley Morgan, the beautiful telepathic bounty hunter he worked with on a recent case, had nearly smacked him in the face with the truth when she said that she felt Shalimar's fingerprints on his heart. Riley had wanted him to run away with her, to help raise the child created from their DNA and that of two others. Brennan refused because he knew in every fiber of his being that he couldn't leave Shalimar. It should have been obvious to him then.

Shalimar was the One.

The realization had hit him like a ton of bricks, and had nearly been his undoing. He crossed his bedroom like a man in a trance. She stared at him like a deer frozen in the glare of headlights, but he could no more have stopped than he could have willed his pulse to cease its thundering. Leaning close, being able to drink in the very essence of her, abruptly slammed his senses into overdrive, setting them ablaze like a match touched to dry kindling. It had only been the confusion on her face and her recently-displayed vulnerability that enabled him to grab a tenuous stranglehold on his shredded self-control. What kind of slime would he have been to move on her when her mind and spirit were in such turmoil?

The inescapable fact, though, was that they were going to have to talk about this when she came back. Brennan wasn't good with conversations of that sort, but he also knew he couldn't pretend that things hadn't changed for him. Shal would see through him within a day – sooner if during this trip she was able to resolve the issues haunting her from her past. At the same time he didn't want push her until she had laid her demons to rest and could think about their future with a clear head. Not only could pressuring her before she was ready spook her into running in the opposite direction, but he also wanted to know that she was as sure about taking their relationship forward as he was. He had to do this carefully. There was too much at stake.

Brennan started to lift the whiskey bottle to his lips for another swig, but paused it midway before finally lowering it slowly back to his lap untasted. No. Enough booze. For one thing, it wasn't working. Besides, Shalimar might be calling soon, and it wouldn't do to be half bagged when she did. She would need his support. Very deliberately, he returned the cap to the bottle and set it back on the desktop beside the empty glass.

He picked up the slim volume of poetry, trying once more to settle his mind while he waited for the phone to ring. The selection he left off with did nothing for him; mere blurred words before his eyes, devoid of meaning. He turned the page and groaned aloud when he saw the next poem.

_A Woman waits for me—she contains all, nothing is lacking._

Great. So much for trying to keep his mind occupied with innocuous things. Why hadn't he remembered that this one was next? He'd certainly read this book enough times to know. He closed the tome with a snap, unwilling to add fuel to the fire blazing through his bloodstream by reading further, but his mind traveled on unbidden, taunting him with the familiar passages.

_I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters…_

Brennan hurled the unoffending little volume across the room and fell back against the headboard once again, laying his arm across his eyes as he fought to dampen the lightning shooting through his loins spurred by the provocative text. An ice-cold shower would be much more to the point, but he didn't want to take a chance on missing the call he was sure was coming. Now more than ever, he wanted to be there for her. Tonight could well lay the groundwork for their future together. He would have to take it slow and get her used to the idea of being lovers first, but for him it had become crystal clear. He wanted Shalimar at his side and watching his back, in battle and at home, laughing and loving for however long Fate gave them, watching their children grow and weathering together whatever challenges came their way.

Together. Brennan felt a great surge of longing swell up within him. Facing her past like this was probably one of the hardest things she had ever done. He yearned to enfold her in his arms, to kiss away her tears, to soothe the wounds inflicted on her spirit. He wanted it for himself as well; holding her evoked in him such a sense of rightness, of completion that he had sought all his life. He had never felt as close to anyone else.

_I am for you, and you are for me…._

The phone warbled softly. One long arm reached out to snag it on the first ring. There were a few others who had this number, and there was no particular time set for her to call, or even definite that she would call, but Brennan knew beyond reason or question that it was Shalimar. The rush suddenly igniting his senses could be caused by no one else, and so there was a special tenderness in his voice when he answered the call.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Brennan tensed. Her voice sounded normal enough, all things considered, but he knew as surely as if he was standing in front of her that she had taken refuge behind the mask she wore at such times, the shield of the warrior that blocked things like pain and weakness from view. He recognized it immediately because it was very much like his own. She was tough, his little tigress, as tough as they come, which made her tears yesterday all the more precious to him because of the trust involved in letting them show. Nor could she emerge from behind it easily. There was a certain amount of pride involved. First he must ease the way with some innocuous small talk to soften the defensive posture. It was the warrior's way. He switched the phone to his other ear.

"I guess you got through airport screening okay – no altercations with the TSA or anything?" Jesse told him about that comment. It made a good opening.

"Barely." The wicked gleam in Shalimar's eye belied her innocent tone. "There was one agent who looked like he was going to single me out for some legalized groping, but for some reason he decided to back off. Rather quickly, too. I can't imagine why."

"'For some reason', huh?" Brennan gave a low chuckle. "Let me guess – you flashed those feral eyes of yours at him, didn't you?"

Amusement tugged at Shalimar's lips. She gave in to it briefly. "That might have been what did it," she admitted.

Brennan could well believe it. The first time he witnessed that phenomenon he was taken aback, too. Even now it still made him just a little bit wary because he knew too well what it portended. His technique was working, though; she was starting to unbend just a bit. He cast his mind around for something to continue with.

"Flight okay? No turbulence or delays?"

"Smooth enough, I suppose, although not what I'm used to."

He jumped on that. "Well, of course not," he said smugly, "You're used to flying with me." Brennan was, after all, the team's most accomplished pilot.

"I was actually referring to the plane. The Helix is faster and more comfortable. I wasn't crazy about being cooped up like that for so long."

"But that's all."

"Well, as to that …," Shalimar couldn't resist teasing him; in fact, she knew he expected it. It was part of the game they played. "If you like, I could check with the pilot, see if he could give you some pointers."

He snorted in mock outrage. "Yeah, right!"

The banter gave them both a slight lift, but then it faded like so much smoke. Silence stretched between them for a long moment. To Brennan it felt like she was a bottle with pressure building up inside. She needed him to pull the cork, and he sensed she was ready. He took a breath, bracing himself.

"How goes the homecoming?"

Shalimar hesitated before answering.

"It was a little tense at first, but we got past it." She paused for a second, and then the mask cracked. "You and Jesse were right -I _am_ really glad I came, and there _was_ so much more going on than I ever knew."

And just like that the words started. She spoke about her childhood and the night the police came, retelling the tale she told him in his bedroom, this time with her mother's point of view added. Then there was the psych ward and the lies that were told, and his heart broke with hers at all the pain and the wasted years. Probably it was all the wine she drank that loosened her tongue so, but she just couldn't seem to stop now. She talked for over an hour; her voice was starting to sound a little hoarse. Brennan just took it all in, interjecting what comfort he could, but beneath it all he could sense that she was leading up to something, something huge and terrible that pierced her to the core, eclipsing everything that had gone before. She fell silent, however, and it seemed to him that there was a catch in the rhythm of her breathing. He gave her a minute, and then probed gently.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

There was the sound of someone blowing their nose, but otherwise the line was quiet. Brennan's voice lowered to a coaxing whisper.

"Shal…..tell me…please."

Shalimar swallowed hard. She drew in a deep breath, fighting for control, and her words came out in almost a croak.

"I had a brother."

Tears leaked silently as she told him about Garrett. This time she let them fall unrestrained, whereas before she tried hard to control them, not wanting to add to her mother's grief. It could also have been because she was tired and drained, or that she didn't have hide them because no one could actually see them streaming down her cheeks. Or maybe it was because it was Brennan. Her mind flashed back to his parting words at the airport. _You don't ever have to be afraid or ashamed to show your emotions. Not with me. _The story poured from her in a torrent of words at first, about his illness, her parents' desperate search for a cure they wouldn't find until she came along and contracted the same thing, about the stories her mother shared. There wasn't much to tell; his life had been so short, not even two years. She told him about the baby book Olivia saved, and how mother and daughter bonded all over again in the shared loss and what might have been.

"He looked like me, you know," she concluded almost as an afterthought, the flow of words dwindling as the emotional torrent finally ebbed, "Blond hair, brown eyes, the same nose – the works. Our baby pictures are nearly identical."

Calmer now, she sniffled quietly, trying to keep him from hearing it, and reached for a fresh tissue to blot her tears. He must have somehow borrowed her feral ears, though, because he heard it anyway.

"Shal…are you all right?"

There was so much ache for her in his voice that she couldn't help but smile just a little. She sighed.

"I'm getting there. Things are just a little close to the surface right now." She managed a self-deprecating little chuckle. "I almost wish I'd let you come with me…even though it would probably have cost you another shirt."

"I'm with you," he assured her, and there was an odd, husky note in his soft whisper she never heard before. "Close your eyes. Can't you feel it? Can't you feel me holding you right now?"

She did as she was told, and in that moment it almost seemed as if she _could_ feel his arms around her, reaching out across the miles to enfold her in his warm and comforting embrace. He would be wearing one of his typical T-shirts; the thin cotton fabric covering the solid wall of his chest would be soft against her cheek, the strong, masculine scent of him filling her nostrils, just like yesterday when she came to his room and he held her. She hadn't wanted it to end. It felt so good, indescribably good…like it was where she belonged. She allowed herself to savor the feeling for a long moment before reality intruded. _Get a grip, girl!_ she chided herself. _He's just comforting you. Don't read more into it than what's there_.

Shalimar took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the sudden stark loneliness that filled her, the yearning to lose herself once more in his arms. No matter how much she may want to, it wasn't fair of her to lay all that on him, to ask more than he was prepared to give, especially when she wasn't completely sure of what she wanted. She pulled another tissue from the box, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose once more. When she spoke again the mask was somewhat back in place, her tone one of studied nonchalance, betraying not a hint of the wistfulness surrounding her heart.

"So …anything going on there?"

Brennan closed his eyes. The change of subject didn't surprise him. He recognized it for what it was; her need to regroup after the emotional storm she had just gone through. Hell, just listening to it, he could use a little regrouping himself. He wished he was truly with her right now, holding her, comforting her, no matter how many shirts she drenched with her tears. The longing surged through him again, and it was all he could do to reply in normal tones.

"Nothing much. Jesse and Lexa went out to dinner, supposedly to discuss contingency plans regarding the Dominion."

Shalimar smiled. "'Supposedly'? You think it's something else?"

"I think so, yeah…at least on his part. Not so sure about hers. I don't know what happened, but he looks at her a little differently these days."

"I know, I've seen some of those looks, too. I just hope she doesn't hurt him. She's so …closed up. "

"And we know she's got a lot of baggage."

"We all have." Shalimar sighed. "On the other hand, maybe he'll be the one to help her unpack that baggage."

"Maybe."

The line was quiet for a couple of minutes, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Brennan couldn't help wondering if it was really Lexa's baggage that Shalimar was referring to. At least, that was the inference he wanted to draw. He could almost see his opening hanging in the air. _Go for it,_ he urged himself. He gathered his courage and tried to sound casual.

"You know…that's not a bad idea."

"What's that?"

"When you get home, maybe we can go out for a drink or something…just the two of us."

Shalimar smiled. A warm glow filled her heart despite her earlier cautioning words. Maybe, just maybe, there was something there after all. And maybe it was time she took a chance and found out.

"I'd like that."

_[Author's note: The poem referenced is "A Woman Waits For Me" by Walt Whitman. The series established early that Brennan was a fan of that poet's works. I recommend that you Google it to get the full picture behind his agitation.}_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

Sunlight shown down on the city of Miami, bathing its towers in a golden glow and bestowing the radiant kiss of a new morning on the shining waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Fifty stories up, a man stood on the marble balcony of the most exclusive five-star penthouse suite the town had to offer, his elbows resting on the elaborately wrought iron railing, regarding the spectacle before him with the piercing gaze of an eagle surveying its kingdom. From far below the sights, scents and sounds, the music and energy of the awakening city, wafted its way up as if offering homage to this god visiting among them. Closing his eyes briefly, the man basked in the pulsating rhythm of the vibrant metropolis, benevolently accepting the inhabitants' just tribute, letting it wash over him in an invigorating wave. For Damien Acosta, it was no more than his due.

In the suite behind him a man in a white jacket and chef's toque stood before a serving cart, presiding over a grill on which a choice cut of steak was currently sizzling. Every so often the cook cast surreptitious glances at the tall, elegantly appointed man on the terrace whose dazzling white suit set a sharp contrast to his deep mocha skin, taking in his Rolex watch and diamond-and-onyx cufflinks with a speculative gleam that he was careful not to let show in his expression. It didn't matter to him if this guest requested the special service of having his meals prepared in his suite out of fussiness, paranoia or just plain hubris. His thoughts were centered on calculating the size of his gratuity if the breakfast met with approval, and doing everything he could to encourage the selection.

Damien was well aware of these glances without even bothering to turn around, because he understood the mindset of the chef and others like him. That was the thing about money. People were awestruck by it, and would do anything to get it. Show them the trappings of wealth, such as an impeccably tailored suit that cost more than they earned in a month, silk shirt, hand-stitched Italian leather shoes and accessories from Cartier's, and they fell all over themselves to cater to his every whim in the hope of garnering a fat tip. Add in a dash of the exotic or mysterious, and that awe became something akin to worship. The fawning amused Damien because he knew that, money or no, they would stampede like a flock of frightened sheep if they had any inkling of the truth about him.

Few people would have recognized his name; even fewer his face. He purposely kept a low profile, avoiding corporate boards and media, pulling strings from behind the curtain, and yet the ever-reaching tentacles of his influence were fast making him one of the most powerful men in the country. Like a predatory shadow he prowled the elite levels of the corporate jungle the way a shark glided through a school of fish, dining at will on only the choicest opportunities. This visit to Miami was no exception. Today a very lucrative niche company in the medical devices field would very quietly join his clandestine stable of money-spinning ventures. Its profits would then be channeled upward like all the others, to feed his growing power base. The board meeting was at 9:00 a.m.

It wasn't avarice that drove him, nor was it about building a business empire, although that could be stimulating at times. It was simply an acknowledgement of reality. Ambition required money to attain its objectives; the greater the ambition, the more cash was required. Money was the lifeblood, the fuel that drove the machine. Ambition nurtured money and made it grow, which in turn fed ambition. Together the two added up to power, and that was what Damien craved. Oh, not the common types of business position or political influence. Such things were fickle commodities, easily bought, and thus the meager aspirations of foolish, short-sighted men. They couldn't hope to understand the true meaning of power.

But he did.

For Damien Acosta was no ordinary man. He was the product of a cutting-edge biogenetics firm named Genomex, whose secret research into manipulation of the human genetic code had the unforeseen result of creating a group of men and women with a wide variety of superhuman abilities. The general public was unaware that these 'mutants' existed, and probably wouldn't believe it if they were told. Things like that were right up there with alien abductions, the province of kooks and movie studios. Fantasies like that didn't belong in the real world.

Damien's powers, however, were very real. The first was telekinesis, the ability to move objects with the power of his mind. The second and more formidable talent was telepathy. With this ability he could literally reach into another person's mind and not only read thoughts expressed in words, but also gather information gleaned from that person's normal senses; for example, hear what that person heard while connected to their mind. He could also implant his own thoughts, or force an action by sheer mental compulsion. This was what true power was all about – total domination; to hold in your hand not only the power of life and death, but the very essence of free will. With this ability he could eventually penetrate the hierarchy of every nation on earth, mold them to his will as a puppet master controls the strings of his marionettes, without them even knowing what was happening. Ultimately, he could own the world.

There were, however, a couple of obstacles he had to overcome. The first was locked into his own DNA. The genetic manipulation which gave the children of Genomex their extraordinary talents was also their death warrant. Because their genes were continuing to mutate, over time they could eventually morph out of control. He had heard stories of other mutants destabilizing to the point where their genes eventually ripped themselves apart, causing extremely painful, and in some cases explosive, death. Unless a treatment could be developed to permanently fix their genetic structures, that fate potentially awaited all mutants, himself included.

Although Damien hadn't experienced any major difficulties yet, he knew it was only a matter of time before his ongoing mutation caused his genes to destabilize, so from the beginning he made finding a cure his top priority. After all, what was the point of owning the world if you weren't alive to rule it? The first thing he did was to infiltrate a minor league chemical company called Naxcon and transform into a major, and hugely profitable, player in the industry. Next, he took some of the early profits and built a secret, cutting-edge genetics lab on the site, and brought in some of Genomex's top minds to jump-start the search for a cure.

As Naxcon continued to grow, Acosta began to branch out, quietly channeling money into interests in other industries. More cash poured in. Then a rival appeared in the form of Mason Eckhart, the former head of the once-mighty Genomex Corporation. Eckhart saw Naxcon as a way to rebuild Genomex and reclaim his empire. By deception and fraud he managed to insinuate himself into an executive position, and immediately began implementing his own agenda. Damien calmly let him. He wasn't threatened by Eckhart's covert takeover because he knew he could stop it in a heartbeat – literally - any time he chose. Eckhart held a number of Genomex's secrets, including the original research of Dr. Adam Kane, whose pioneering work in the field of gene technology became the therapies which created mutants in the first place. Chances were good that if a viable treatment was to be found, its roots would be traced there.

A cure for the mutant death sentence, however, was not what was uppermost in Eckhart's mind. His goals were more immediate. Just before the fall of Genomex his researchers created a process wherein mutant genes could be spliced into the DNA of ordinary people, giving them mutant abilities for a short period of time. The down side was that the process was unstable. Invariably the test subjects burned out their augmented genes quickly, killing them within a few months. Eckhart didn't care about that. What he cared about was that he now had a cadre of super-powered minions to do his bidding, people he could control but who wouldn't live long enough to turn on him. Once he rebuilt his domain, he could return to his mission of rounding up the 'anomalies' created at Genomex and eradicating them.

Though the process had no impact on the overall question of mutant instability, Acosta immediately saw how he could duplicate it for his own ends. He lost no time in setting up a new hidden facility completely separate from Naxcon, and lifted the process from his unwitting benefactor's supposedly secure computer files. Soon he had his own group of graftees in the field; common street thugs now enhanced with a variety of mutant abilities. He put these 'Special Forces Units', as he called them, to work carrying out small guerilla raids to weaken Naxcon's rivals. The results were mixed. Their actions resulted in a lot of business shifted over to Naxcon, but the operatives were imperfect models, self-destructing far too quickly. Still, they served his purposes well in the short term, and there were always more where they came from.

The second obstacle was a shadowy group of behind-the-scenes power brokers that called themselves The Dominion. Formed more than two hundred years ago, their self-proclaimed mission was to unobtrusively guide the progression of scientific discovery in a responsible way for the benefit of mankind, sometimes through funding of promising technology, other times covertly destroying that which they deemed too dangerous. At least that was their original mission. The current incarnation of their Governing Council had begun implementing a more evolved agenda, one that put them on a collision course with Damien's own objectives.

Their paths crossed for the first time a year ago when Acosta's people managed to acquire a very elusive and much sought-after mutant, a woman whose stable DNA and healing abilities held the key not only to solving the problem of mutant instability, but also to actually unlocking the complete human genetic code. With this woman, code-named Target Alpha as an indication of her importance, in his custody, he could take mutants to the next level, create a made-to-order army of super beings with stable genetic structures, even program in traits such as total loyalty and unquestioned obedience. A whole new phase of humanity, one under his total control, could emerge. The possibilities were endless.

The Dominion had much the same idea, and had the advantage of a worldwide, centuries-old organization to respond to this threat to their plans. They immediately sent a highly specialized and heavily armed force to Acosta's facility to wrest the woman away from him so they could use her for their own ends. What neither side counted on, though, was a wild card in the form of the woman's husband, a man with powers who mirrored Damien's own, backed by a formidable team of mutants who called themselves Mutant X. Though nominally under the control of the Dominion, and completely unaware of their superiors' machinations, Mutant X joined the husband in rescuing his wife, decimating Damien's Special Forces units in the process. Damien himself killed the Dominion's task force and destroyed his facility to keep it from falling into Dominion hands, but not before transferring vital blood samples and other extremely valuable data taken from Target Alpha to another, secret facility. The woman and her husband then disappeared.

And so began a deadly sort of chess game. While Damien sought to capitalize on the vital data obtained from Target Alpha, the Dominion sought vengeance for their murdered strike team, dedicating huge resources to tracking him down. They infiltrated his known businesses, searching for hidden links to others, even using sabotage in an attempt to draw him out and kill him. Damien struck back, influencing a Council member to kidnap five of his fellows. Two of the five ended up dead, as did his puppet.

Enraged, the Dominion redoubled their efforts, but Damien remained elusive. It rankled him to have to do so, but he was canny enough to know that he was not ready to take on such a powerful foe – not then, at any rate. He continued to work behind the scenes, sometimes using surrogates, other times utilizing different identities, quietly expanding his financial network, developing intelligence resources, recruiting and training his own paramilitary force, while his genetics team forged ahead with improving the mutant gene-grafting process.

His patient strategy paid off. His Special Forces units had not only been rebuilt, they had expanded significantly, and their expected life span had quadrupled. Under his direction small bands of them had begun targeting Dominion interests, providing some much needed training and experience in the use of their new powers while ravaging Dominion assets. The Council fired back, attacking his holdings in similar raids. These were small strikes in the overall scheme of things, two titans probing for their opponents' weaknesses before loosing their thunderbolts in earnest, with the general public unaware of the growing stakes. The storm clouds were gathering, though, and soon the battle for domination would erupt.

Sooner than the Dominion expected, in fact. Damien had just seen the latest figures, and they exceeded his expectations. He was already moving forces into position to strike in several places at once, including their headquarters, a location those pompous egotists thought a closely-guarded secret. Aided by intelligence from within the Council itself, he knew every move they made as soon as they made it, their plans as transparent as if he had been sitting in the Chamber beside them when they were made. Within the next two weeks the battle would be joined. With the Dominion annihilated, he would pick up the pieces of their fallen empire and take that next step toward his ultimate destiny. Nothing would stand in his way.

Damien straightened from the balcony and strode back into his suite just as the chef was about to call him. There was no chance or guesswork involved in the timing; he had known the second his meal was ready because he made it a habit to keep a basic telepathic awareness of the surface thoughts of anyone around him, whether it be a waiter at a restaurant or a stray baggage handler on the tarmac as he prepared to board his private jet. It was merely a matter of prudence, a precaution to forestall any unpleasant surprises the Dominion might have up its collective sleeve should they manage to locate him long enough to set up a hit. It had already happened once, but Damien sensed the assassin's thoughts in advance. The corpse was found the next day in a convenient dumpster.

Seating himself at the suite's smaller table, Damien unfolded the snowy white linen napkin and allowed himself to be served. The tangy aroma filled his nostrils, making his mouth water. There was nothing like steak and eggs for breakfast, and these were cooked to perfection. Piping hot coffee, a special Colombian blend, bubbled into his cup from a sterling silver pot, adding to the appetizing ambience. The chef then quietly withdrew to the serving cart, standing by unobtrusively in case any of the assorted side dishes waiting there should strike his patron's fancy. Damien nodded his approval and dug in hungrily.

He was about half way through his breakfast when his iPhone rang. Taking it out of his pocket and noting the caller, he answered on the second ring.

"Mr. Dawson."

"The package arrived yesterday as expected," the caller reported, "Fox and her mother will meet with the lawyer this morning. Her return flight is currently scheduled for this evening, but my electronic surveillance picked up a call to the airline checking on flights for tomorrow."

"Excellent!" Damien leaned back in his chair with a deep sense of satisfaction. "I will be flying to San Francisco as soon as I attend to some pertinent business. You are to watch it very carefully until I arrive."

"Would you like me to pick up and deliver this package?"

"Absolutely not." Acosta skimmed through a couple of screens on his iPhone and punched a few apps. "This acquisition needs to be made delicately, without anyone being the wiser, particularly the target herself. I will handle that personally. Just monitor this package until I arrive, which I expect to be around two o'clock this afternoon your time."

"I'll take care of it, Mr. Acosta."

"You will need to take certain precautions; she is a feral, and quite powerful. I'm sending you complete dossier."

"She'll never see a thing."

Acosta frowned. He didn't like the cockiness he was hearing.

"This package is of great interest to me, Mr. Dawson," he said frigidly. Dawson didn't appear to notice the warning.

"Don't worry, sir. I'll…handle it with care."

A small chuckle accompanied his joke. Acosta was not amused. The temperature in his voice lowered several degrees.

"See that you do."

Acosta ended the call abruptly with the single telekinetic pulse at the screen. Dawson was not one of his direct employees, but he had used this man on a contract basis in the past, and had found him to be skilled and reliable. As an added plus, he was already in the city, San Francisco being his base of operations. He would watch his quarry carefully, or be able to contain her if need be until he arrived. Damien was confident that he expressed the importance of the assignment on his man, and that it would be handled correctly. The last chess piece was about to be set into place. He set his iPhone on the table beside him and once more turned to his steak.

Everything was coming together just as he planned. There was, however, one major detail yet to be settled: Mutant X. The way they triumphed in the face of far superior odds had earned his caution and respect. Pound for pound, they were the Dominion's strongest and most versatile operational team, with an array of talents and impressive individual power levels. Even the Dominion Council feared them. True, they utilized them today, but Damien was well aware that the Council Master himself had already decreed their termination the moment they outlived their usefulness, a moment which was fast approaching. There were whispers that the team may be getting suspicious about the Dominion's true agenda. The Council wasn't about to risk their powerful pawns turning on them. They could do too much damage.

The very abilities that made the Dominion Council fear them were the reasons Acosta wanted them on his side. Unfortunately, three quarters of the team were stubborn idealists, plagued by absurd notions of right and wrong. They should have learned long ago, as he did, that morality was for lesser beings. Damien doubted very seriously that he could get them to join him willingly, even if he told them the truth about the Dominion's plans for them. Fortunately, he had another option at his disposal.

His plan revolved around the feral, Shalimar Fox. All he needed to do was separate her from her teammates long enough to invade her mind with his mental powers and subjugate her to his will. He could then use her to collect the rest of the team. Once completely under his influence, Mutant X would become the vanguard of his attack on the Dominion headquarters, a Trojan Horse of sorts that would open the door for the rest of his operatives. Those arrogant fools on the Council wouldn't know what hit them.

Fox was the obvious choice for two reasons. First, she was known to be susceptible to this type of attack, having once been under the mental sway of the renegade mutant Gabriel Ashlocke for a short time. Second, he had the perfect lever to isolate her from her friends without arousing suspicion. What prodigal daughter wouldn't jump at the chance to reconcile with her estranged family, particularly if there was potentially a large amount of money involved? Naxcon's original owner had been Nicholas Fox, Shalimar's father. Damien was aware that Fox had provided for his daughter in his will; he had in fact suggested a couple of the provisions after he discovered she was part of Mutant X. After Fox's death, Damien merely waited until the proper time and then had the man's former secretary conveniently 'find' the daughter's email address among Nicholas' effects. This information was forwarded to the widow only a couple of days ago. As expected, the widow got in touch with her daughter, and his prospective cat's paw had taken the bait. She was now isolated on the West Coast, with her teammates a couple of thousand miles away. Perfect.

Well, almost perfect. Fox moved just a little more quickly than he anticipated. Damien had planned to be in San Francisco before her, but first he had this other detail to get out of the way. This niche company he was about to take over had a couple of recalcitrant board members who required 'persuasion' to vote his way. Damien needed to deal with this in person, as his powers weren't effective over a long distance, and this particular acquisition was too important to him to delay. But no matter. It would only take a couple of hours of his time, and then he would be headed to San Francisco. In the meantime he just might sample one of the Danish pastries the chef had on his cart.

Impending conquest always sharpened his appetite.

Shalimar paused in the doorway of the penthouse's spacious kitchen with the surreal sense that she had stumbled through a time warp. Olivia Fox Sheffield stood presiding over a hot griddle built into the top of the stove, a long-sleeved, brightly-flowered apron protecting her ivory silk blouse and tailored black slacks from spattering bacon grease. Tongs in hand, she deftly turned over each thick slice, then dumped a container of chopped potatoes onto the grill beside the bacon. A skillet full of French toast was cooking beside the griddle, the occasional pop of its egg-batter coating adding to the homey sounds of breakfast. Orange juice was already on the table next to a jarringly familiar Sevres china teapot painted with delicate blue flowers.

How many times as a child, awakened as she was this morning by the distinctive sound and smell of sizzling bacon, had she come across the tableau now before her? Shalimar couldn't even begin to guess. If she closed her eyes she could almost believe herself to be back in those idyllic days, before all the misunderstandings and lies tore her family apart, to a time when an ordinary little girl had two ordinary, loving parents, and 'normal' was something taken for granted. But Shalimar did not close her eyes. She kept them open, squarely facing the fact that there was no going back to that simpler time. The child was long gone. In her place stood a woman grown, one who had been tested by battle and fire, and now stood proud and strong and in command of her own destiny. No longer shackled by the pain of her past, but linked once more to a family she had long forsaken, she could now look toward a future filled with possibilities. After all these years she had come full circle.

That didn't mean, however, that she couldn't enjoy this particular bit of nostalgia. French toast with bacon and hash browns was another fondly-remembered meal from her childhood. Shalimar shook loose the last cobwebs of memory and took a deep, appreciative sniff of the delicious scents wafting through the air. Olivia glanced over her shoulder at the sound.

"Good morning."

Shalimar smiled. "Good morning." Her gaze traveled around the room from the cooking food to the elegantly dressed table. As usual, her mother had everything well in hand, but she asked the question anyway.

"Anything I can help with?"

"Breakfast is almost ready."

Lacking anything more constructive to do, Shalimar sat down at the table. A manila folder, creased with age, lay in the center, the edges of some yellowed papers sticking out the end. Curious, she opened it. An ornate page full of loops, whorls and fancy script lay on top. The name on it leaped up at her.

It was her birth certificate.

This shouldn't surprise her, she thought as she hesitantly, almost reverently touched the elegant writing. They were due in the lawyer's office in about an hour, and naturally they would have to furnish some proof of her identity. She had her driver's license, of course, and a few other things, but this…this was an acknowledgement by the world that nearly twenty-eight years ago a baby girl named Shalimar Catherine Fox had been born to Nicholas and Olivia Fox, and she was seeing it for the first time in her life. Shalimar's heart swelled, filled with emotions that she couldn't even name. Then, gently, carefully, she laid it aside.

The rest of the papers were filled with small print and enough legalese to make her eyes cross. Probably they had something to do with her father's bequest. Her feelings were still mixed about that. Though it turned out he wasn't the villain she thought he was for all those years, still she wasn't quite ready to forgive him for not being able to accept her for who she was. She resented that particular, admittedly human, failing, and resented even more that he would try to use his money to make up for his feet of clay, in essence to buy her love. Things might have been different if he had lived; if she had known earlier what she did now. Maybe there would have been a chance for them to really reconcile. Shalimar would never know.

In the meantime, there was the practical aspect of the matter to consider. Lexa made a good point about the cash coming in handy for their looming battle with the Dominion. It could well be that this money might make an important difference in the safety and security of herself and her friends. Maybe this was some weird sort of karma, the universe's way of giving her father a chance to make amends from beyond the grave. Maybe by doing it in the only manner she could accept – for the welfare of her friends – she was being given a chance to come to terms with who her father really was and find a measure of peace.

And maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Her gaze wandered to the painted teapot steaming gently on the table, matching cups at each place, feeling a sense of déjà vu that took her all the way back to her sixth birthday. Her mother had taken her to the china cabinet, an impressive thing of cherry wood and etched glass, and one of the few things in the house she was strictly prohibited from touching. After impressing upon her how very fragile the contents were, Olivia opened the doors and carefully selected two china cups so dainty and elegant they must surely have been made for a princess. The cups were only to be used on very special occasions, her mother explained. A young lady reaching the important milestone of six years old was one of those occasions. The awestruck little girl was then allowed to carry one, slowly and with both hands, to the table. Milk filled the cup that time instead of tea, but it still qualified as her first real tea party. Here it was, another link with her past. It was amazing that the set still existed, and in such perfect condition.

She poured herself a cup, lifting the tea to her lips with both hands. The soothing herbal aroma wafted up to her sensitive nostrils, permeating her senses and gently easing her into the morning. It was an excellent blend, and she made a mental note to ask her mother what it was so she could find some when she got back home, but it wasn't what she needed right now. What she really needed was coffee – extra large and brewed strong enough to melt the patterned silverware. The lighter caffeine of the tea just wasn't enough to bring order to her sleep-deprived brain. One would have thought that it was the ambiguity of her feelings regarding her father and his legacy that kept her up half the night, but that wasn't the case. Another, more vital, issue took precedence, occupying her thoughts, even her dreams, in a way that would no longer be denied.

Brennan.

The two of them had talked far into the night, calling a halt only when Shal's cell phone battery gave out. Sitting there in the dark, pouring her heart and soul out to him across the miles, she felt a profound change in the connection they shared, a sense of something deeper, something richer, blossoming between them across the miles. In some indefinable way his voice, his very essence, wrapped itself around her, gathered her into the warm shelter of his arms, and held her close against his heart. She could feel it as surely and as tangibly as she felt his embrace back at Sanctuary; how, she didn't even try to fathom. All she knew was that it was real, it was right…and that there was no place on earth that she would rather be.

And just like that, she knew.

It wasn't as if she hadn't recognized what was happening. The signs were all there. He had long been her partner of choice when on assignment, but lately they were spending more and more off time together as well, not really doing much, just hanging out. Their horseplay was becoming more spirited; there was an underlying current of building sexual excitement that gave an extra spice to their little sallies, a charge in the atmosphere between them that had nothing to do with his electrical powers. They were touching more too, and those touches, while outwardly desultory, were becoming more lingering, more familiar. She liked the natural way his arm curled around her shoulders or waist, the feel of his hard muscles under her hands, against her back or side when she leaned against him, the sense of security and contentment she found when she unconsciously insinuated herself into his casual embrace. In those moments there was a part of her that recognized they might well be heading toward becoming lovers, but she always shunted it aside. She was having too much fun to spoil things by risking such a plunge, and suspected he felt the same. There were probably other reasons as well on both sides, or maybe it was just as simple as each waiting for the other to make the first move. Either way they kept edging toward that precipice, holding back, yet unable to deny the inexorable pull that kept drawing them toward something which both knew instinctively would change them forever.

Shalimar knew what her reason was. In nearly every other relationship she ever had there came a point when she felt stifled, when her partner tried to rein in the wildness and independence that was so much a part of her nature. What she eventually came to realize was that she had been subconsciously afraid that Brennan would do the same thing. Becoming lovers would give him certain rights, including the right to question behavior that affected them as a couple, such as her late-night hunting forays into the city. Her biggest fear had been that he would use that right to cage her spirit, that their love would become a rope that would ultimately strangle her.

On the other hand, she could not respect a doormat, someone so weak that she could walk all over him. What she wanted, what she longed for, was a balance; a partnership in every sense of the word. Brennan matched her strength for strength, not only in battle, where he had long since accepted her as an equal, but in the more subtle challenges of character and will. He was definitely an alpha male, but what he proved to her in the last couple of days was that he could walk that tightrope between strength and dominance. The scene at the airport was the clincher. He stood tall in the face of her anger at the suggestion that he accompany her, asserting his right to be concerned, to feel for her, without any hint of apology or concession. At the same time, by laying the choice of whether or not he could accompany her in her hands, he recognized that it was in fact her decision to make. Though he very much wanted to do otherwise, he was able to restrain his own protective tendencies and set a boundary without any prompting from her. More importantly, he stuck to that boundary, without putting any pressure on her to change her mind. A year ago he wouldn't have done that. Oh, they would no doubt have their clashes in the future; they were too much alike in temperament to think otherwise. Still, the fact that he was able to do it at all spoke volumes on his understanding and respect for who she was deep inside. It melted the last of her resistance and allowed her to accept the truth she had kept hidden in her heart for months.

She loved him.

There had been other men in her life, men who had qualities she admired, but as she got to know him she came to realize that no one she ever met put the whole package together like Brennan Mulwray. He was all man, handsome and virile, with a sexy, absolutely ripped body, and he moved with a confidence and an athletic grace that reminded her of a jaguar on the prowl. There was also an aura of danger around him that wasn't limited to his powers or fighting skill; he was the quintessential street-raised 'bad boy', edgy and full of fire, with a wild streak in his soul that matched her own. He was a natural leader, too; the first into danger and the last one out, smart, quick, and dependable, with the heart of a lion and a will of tempered steel. Moreover, he had an iron-clad personal code of honor and integrity that raised him head and shoulders above the average street punk. Those characteristics made for a potent combination.

And he was powerful. Oh, my, yes, and that in itself was enticing. Shalimar figured out long ago that she needed someone who could at the very least hold his own with her, and Brennan fit that bill in spades. In addition to his top-of-the-charts electrical abilities, there was no denying that he had muscle to spare, and he knew how to use it. Though her feral powers made her faster, more agile and physically stronger than he, in their sparring sessions he countered her mutant abilities with his nearly-equal speed, a much longer reach both in the scope of his electrical powers and in hand-to-hand fighting, and extensive formal martial-arts training from a Green Beret mentor that she didn't have. In fact, a fair portion of her own skill came from his tutelage. He was also a very tricky fighter, with the intuitive ability to analyze an opponent's style on the fly and devise a counter strategy, something she discovered to her detriment on a number of occasions. He wasn't intimidated by her, either, which was a delightful novelty among the men she had known. What pleased her the most, though, was that once Brennan discovered what she could do, he didn't hold back because she was a woman, and a petite one at that. He took his lumps and administered several of his own, making no apology when he scored a telling hit, and expecting none when she did. In retrospect, that may have been when she started falling for the big elemental. This equality in battle, plus the respect his abilities demanded of her, was just as attractive, just as tantalizing, as everything else about him. From that beginning they eventually developed a bond so deep that they were able to communicate beyond words through an understanding of each other's nature based on battle, trust, and an intuitive insight into the very depths of the other's soul.

He was her mate.

The realization made her tighten her grip on the fragile cup nearly to the point of shattering it. In acknowledging that truth she could also admit that she wanted him, with a fierceness that made her body quiver at the very thought. _Wanted, _though, was way too mild a word for the currents of electricity that zinged through her nerves when she lay stretched out on top of him in the woods of Stormking Mountain. It was decidedly pale and bland when it came to describing what she felt in his bedroom. The sight of him approaching like that, with a look on his face she had never seen before, his sculpted muscles rippling under bare, gleaming skin, jazzed her senses nearly to flashpoint, and her entire body tingled with anticipation. Her breathing quickened when he leaned in so close, and her pulse thundered in her ears, her senses igniting like a forest fire. His scent was so compelling, so raw and elemental, so utterly _male_, that she could literally taste it…taste him. And suddenly, she wanted nothing so much as to do just that. The abruptness and overwhelming ferocity of that want, that _need_, blindsided her, making her freeze in her tracks. Shalimar had to keep her hands clenched rigidly at her sides, because in that moment she knew with absolute certainty that if she gave in to that impulse even for an instant, she wouldn't have been able to stop there. She would have been all over him, her hands roaming wildly over the sleek, hard flesh they ached to explore, her mouth savoring the taste of him, the chemical changes in his skin and scent as he became more and more aroused. They would have ended up in his bed in short order.

Confused and thoroughly rattled by the sheer force of her reaction, she panicked and skittered away like a frightened schoolgirl, seeking the first distraction that came to hand. The memory made her wince. That certainly hadn't been one of her better moments. Coming after the way she cried on his shoulder he must have thought her completely mental. Next time would be different. Shalimar knew what she wanted now. The time for hesitation was past. She didn't think he would be too hard to convince.

And then what? What about the future? _Was_ there even a future for them, what with the Dominion, Adam, Mutant X, and the whole genetic time bomb thing?

_Don't go there,_ she cautioned herself. _Don't start thinking long term. Deal with the present first. One thing at a time. _ With that wise counsel Shalimar let her imagination return to a more interesting topic, speculating on how it would be to make love with him, seeing his eyes go hot and smoky with passion, feeling his lips scorching hers, those big, strong hands setting her body ablaze, stroking and seeking, while her smaller ones returned the favor. He would be an exciting lover, she decided, one that she wouldn't have to hold back with. Brennan would more than hold his own with her, and would give as good as he got. At the same time he would be sensitive to her needs, something he demonstrated again last night. She felt heat stirring in her blood at the thought. One thing was clear – they were going to have to do something about this situation once she got home. There was no way she was going to be able to hide her feelings from him any longer.

Her thoughts were rather abruptly interrupted by a plate of hot food sliding under her nose. Olivia brought a second plate to the other place setting opposite her daughter.

"So," she said, seating herself, apparently not noticing the younger woman's startled mien. She poured herself a cup of tea, then picked up her fork and started digging into a piece of French toast. "Tell me about your life. Your father said you worked in a clothing store. I must say I was surprised. I can't imagine you settling on an occupation so … confining."

Though the tone of the words was even and natural, Shalimar caught the older woman looking pointedly at her hands, and knew she was busted. They were not the hands of someone who handled fabric day in and day out, but those of someone who used them in much rougher ways. Obviously Olivia hadn't bought that story for a minute. But then, she had always been harder to fool than her father.

_Well, Mom, it's like this – I'm part of a team of super-powered mutants, and we spend our time taking down the bad guys and saving the world. _Yeah, that would go over big. Shalimar took another bite, chewing slowly as she tried to come up with something plausible. Nothing came to her, so she went with evasion.

"It's….complicated."

Olivia's eyes narrowed.

"Which means it's something you don't want me to know about – something either secretive, dangerous, or both."

Silence hung in the air. Shalimar industriously applied herself to her breakfast.

"All right, I won't pry. But do you like what you do? Do you find it fulfilling?"

"Most of the time."

"What about outside your job? Are you happy? Is there someone special in your life?"

Shalimar nearly choked on a forkful of hash browns. Like just about every other kid in the world, she had been half convinced that her mother could read her mind, particularly at the most inopportune times. Given that they hadn't seen each other in seventeen years, Shal hadn't expected the parental telepathy to still be functioning. It was more than a little disconcerting to have it suddenly resurface, especially considering what she had just been thinking about. She felt her cheeks redden. Olivia smiled knowingly.

"Yes, I can see that there is. Tell me about him."

"That's….also complicated."

"It usually is. Let me ask this - can he keep up with you? Does he know what you do? Can you be yourself with him?"

"We work together." Shalimar decided she could tell her mother that much at least. "He knows about my mutation; in fact, he has abilities of his own. And yes - he gets a little chauvinistic sometimes, but he does accept me for who I am."

"I would like to meet him sometime. He sounds very special."

A warm glow lit Shalimar's eyes. She raised her cup and took a swallow of the excellent tea, thinking of the word Olivia just supplied and how totally inadequate it was. 'Special' couldn't even begin to describe this man of fire and courage and so much more. The corners of her mouth quirked up in a secret little smile.

"You could say that." 


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

Breathing deeply and evenly, Lexa Pierce pressed her forehead to her knees, her arms stretching out to clasp her ankles. She held that pose for a few seconds before releasing them, then placed her palms flat on the workout mat to either side of her waist and lifted her body, arching her back and neck so that her seal-brown ponytail dangled between her shoulder blades. Yoga wasn't the full contact kickboxing and punching-bag sort of workout that Shalimar favored, but in its way it was every bit as taxing, and it was a regimen that suited her. Performing the exercises seemed to have a way of clarifying her mind as well as toning her body, putting her often unruly thoughts into perspective.

She needed some of that perspective now. Something had been happening to her over the past few months, something she only recently recognized. Now she had to figure out what to do about it.

Her time with Mutant X was supposed to be just another assignment, a deal she made with the Dominion in exchange for their resources in helping to find her twin brother. It was that cut and dried. She wasn't here to get chummy with anyone. Professionals didn't do that. They did their job, and moved on. Period. That had always been her creed and she stuck to it, living by her own code, moving from place to place, as elusive as a shadow and just as untouchable, steering clear of entanglements because they created weaknesses and doubts, and trusting no one. Friendship and camaraderie such as was shared by the other members of the Mutant X team were not for the likes of her.

What she hadn't counted on was Jesse Kilmartin. Lexa still couldn't figure out just how it happened, but somehow he managed to get under her skin, had seeped through the cracks of the ice walling off her heart. At first she had been amused by his not-exactly-subtle overtures, by his naiveté in thinking there could be anything between an ex-preppy computer geek from a wealthy family and someone like her. Really, it was laughable. They not only came from different backgrounds, but their experiences were worlds apart. He was so foolishly trusting. She could have played him like a cheap fiddle without even trying, wrapped him around her little finger and then broken his heart into a thousand pieces if she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

Trusting he might be, but what she came to discover was that it sprang not so much from naiveté as from a strong core of idealism that she found herself envying, coupled with a rock-solid moral compass. It took real courage and conviction to be an idealist these days, which she couldn't help but grudgingly respect. He was refreshingly honest and straightforward, with a dry, sometimes biting sense of humor that was much like hers. He had a very giving spirit as well, something she had occasion to experience after her twin died. Jesse was the one who helped her through her grief, supporting her even as she fought him, with a strength she hadn't expected from him and a tenderness that, more than anything else, broke through the dam of her emotions because it was something she hadn't felt for a long, long time. She really lost it then, crying, cursing, railing, and he just held her, weathering the storm until she finally quieted. No one except her brother had ever done that for her before, and the strangeness of it, the weakness it showed, left her feeling raw and exposed.

No, there was more to it than that, and she might as well admit it. Lexa had never been one to shrink from the truth, no matter how unsettling it might be, and she wasn't about to start now. Though she had tried to keep him at arm's length with her abrasive manner, Jesse had managed, with gentle persistence and sincere compassion, to touch the heart and soul of the woman encased within the iron shell. There was no going back, either; no way to repair the breach in her armor. Something inside her had changed irrevocably. He took her in his arms, and for a little while brought light and warmth to the cold, black chasm of loneliness and loss that she hid from everyone but herself. He did this unhesitatingly, with his eyes wide open, fully aware of her dark and sometimes bloody past, accepting her as she was, not who he wanted her to be, and asking nothing in return. Such acceptance, coming as it did at a time when her spirit was brittle to the point of shattering, was an incredible gift, made all the more wondrous by its unconditional offering, and it meant more to her than she could ever express.

Lexa lowered back to the floor, then brought her legs straight up in a ninety degree angle, continuing the flow of her exercise regimen. She had expected Jesse to try to take advantage of her momentary meltdown, but he never mentioned it. When she tentatively broached the subject, he replied that he was just trying to help. And that was that. He didn't refer to it again, or try to hold her to any unspoken or perceived promises. His behavior toward her was the same as it always was. Well, almost. He was more relaxed around her now, still showing his interest in casual ways, but with more confidence, more flashes of that sharp, dry sense of humor she was coming to know so well. It was easier now during slow nights at Sanctuary to pull him away from his computers for a game of chess, or perhaps a lively discussion over a glass of wine on whatever topic presented itself. She was becoming… comfortable…with him.

And that, she told herself sharply as she pushed into a shoulder stand, had to stop. They were opposites in too many ways: he was an optimist, she was a fatalist; he was an incurable romantic while she was brutally pragmatic; he wanted children, and she…no, don't even go there. She quickly slammed the door on that line of thought. The point was there was a whole list of things on which they differed. A personal relationship just wasn't possible. Besides, this thing with the Dominion was going to come to a head soon. She could feel it, like sand slipping through an hourglass, a growing sense of inevitability that she didn't even try to question. What the spark would be she didn't know, but what she did know, much more than the others, was how relentless, how absolutely ruthless the Dominion Council could be. She couldn't afford to let her feelings become a distraction. If she and Jesse both survived the coming battle, then maybe she could dare to think about what it would be like to come out of the shadows, to actually live in the light she now knew she was starved for. At the same time she knew that it could never be – she was too damaged, her soul too stained with darkness. He deserved better, someone who could share his ideals and make him happy. That someone wasn't her.

The heavy shroud of despondency that fell over her at that thought took her by surprise. A sudden vision popped into her head before she could stop it, that of a laughing Jesse holding a towheaded little boy with his crystal blue eyes while some faceless woman at his side cradled a blanketed infant. The image sank her deeper into gloom for some reason, bringing her yoga routine to a halt. Lexa sat on her mat for a long time, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up legs, her chin resting on her knees, and finally admitted to herself just how much she had come to appreciate him, how much the gift of his strength and caring meant to her. This wasn't the wild physical passion of her previous relationships, burning like fire and just as quickly fizzling out, but the gradual process of two people thrown together by circumstance who find something more than either bargained for, something unsettling and strange, yet new and wondrous. A part of her couldn't help thinking - what if she relaxed her guard, just for a little while, and allowed herself to take what he offered so freely? What if she let herself give in return?

Enough. With an effort, Lexa wrenched her mind away from such wishful thinking. It wasn't to be. He had given her so much, more than he would ever know, and she wouldn't repay him by hurting him, which was what would happen in the end if she gave in to her own selfish wants. She had to stop things now. Squaring her shoulders, Lexa stuffed those feelings back behind her emotional barricade before they could further erode her resolve. Her decision was made. She would return his gift in the only way she could – by doing everything in her power to keep him safe from the coming war, to give him a chance at a happiness she couldn't provide. She just had to figure out exactly what needed to be done…and be strong enough to do it. She'd be damned if she would let the Dominion harm Jesse – harm any of them.

"Lexa."

Speak of the devil. Lexa took a couple of seconds to compose her face in a bland mask before rolling fluidly to her feet and going to her computer. On the screen was the permanently grim, bearded face of her Dominion contact, the man she mentally christened "MacGruff" because she didn't know his real name.

"I thought things were a little too quiet," she said, seating herself at the desk.

"Did Ms. Fox go alone to San Francisco?"

Lexa nearly rolled her eyes, but was able to restrain herself just in time. The bean counters were evidently raising their ugly heads again, although she wouldn't have thought it important enough for MacGruff to get involved.

"Yes, and she flew commercial," she said, not wasting any effort in trying to keep the sharpness out of her tone. Honestly – didn't those people have better things to do with their time?

"We need to talk …."

Jesse Kilmartin leaned back from his custom-built tri-screened computer console in Sanctuary's communications center, a mug of freshly-brewed cappuccino steaming gently in his hand, his brow furrowed in thought. Several feet away Brennan sat ensconced at another station, but the intermittent tapping of computer keys barely registered on his consciousness. The complicated computer program before him wasn't what had him enveloped in such a brown study, however. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his mind from straying toward another, completely different but equally complex topic that had been occupying his mind since last night. After correcting his third mistake in fifteen minutes he'd given up, picking up his mug from the electric warmer on his desktop and leaning back in his chair. Perhaps if he turned his attention to this other problem for a while, he could get it mapped out in his head, and then the work would go easier. He sure wasn't accomplishing anything worthwhile right now.

He needed to figure out his next move with Lexa.

His attraction to her completely blindsided him. For one thing, the high-powered brunette wasn't anywhere near his usual taste in women. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also prickly, abrasive, and independent to a fault. He usually preferred his women softer and more approachable. There was also a huge difference in their life experiences; he had the cushion and sophistication that growing up with old wealth provided, while she … well, he didn't know a whole lot about her life, but what he did know read like a horror story, and it was clear that it left its mark on her in a number of ways. Her sophistication was the hard, deadly sort of a professional mercenary with who knew how many kills to her credit, something so outside his experience that he felt constantly off balance. The woman was a powerhouse in more ways than one, dangerous and enticing, and with a gleam in her eye and a challenging tilt to her chin could send heat zinging through his veins quicker than a gulp of vintage brandy. She was like a high-performance Lamborghini to his BMW – sleek, fast, and addictive, with a cool, touch-me-not bearing that she wore like a second skin.

She frustrated the hell out of him with that, along with her fatalistic, glass-half-empty attitude, and yet he found himself continually drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. He had been hesitant to do anything about it because he was well aware that, like the unwary moth, he could easily get his wings badly singed if he went into this alone. She could play him like a trophy fish if she chose to, and then mount his gutted and bleeding ego on her wall, more than enough reason for any sensible man to tread cautiously. Compounding the problem was the fact that, although Lexa respected him on a professional level, he had absolutely no idea of how she felt about him on the personal side. There was no doubt that she was aware of his interest, but she persisted in sending out what looked to him like mixed signals. She never flat-out rebuffed his small advances, but never encouraged them, either. Was she playing head games, or just daring him to step up to the plate? Jesse was still trying to work that one out.

Part of that changed after her brother died. Something had broken inside her, exposing a vulnerability he had never seen before, and probably no one else had, either. The ice and snow Dominion operative all at once became a flesh and blood woman, one that aroused all his protective instincts, and he couldn't help but respond. Ignoring all her warnings, he simply pulled her into his arms and held her, saying nothing, just letting his offering of support and compassion speak for him. She resisted his embrace at first, then slowly, unwillingly, even resentfully, her rigid posture began to ease as her grief exploited every tiny fissure in her armor, eroding the cracks, forcing them wider, until it burst forth in a torrent she could no longer hold back. She broke down with wrenching, cathartic sobs.

The storm didn't last long and embarrassed her to no end, but he didn't see it that way. Something changed for him, too. Feeling her cling to him, her tears hot and damp on his skin and shirt, revved his senses in ways he never experienced before. He saw all the pain and misery she kept hidden deep inside, not only at the loss of her beloved twin brother, but also the bitterness and anger of the lone wolf she forced herself to become out of sheer survival. He saw the taint left by her years as a mercenary, the shadows on her soul from Genomex and the Dominion. In a flash of insight he suddenly understood that she kept herself so aloof because, between her work and her mutation, she knew she was living on borrowed time, so there was no point in allowing herself to feel softer, more human emotions like friendship or love. His old psychology textbook characterized this behavior as a common defense mechanism, but Jesse knew with a sudden, bleak certainty that there was more to it than that. Deep down, she didn't believe she was destined for any kind of happiness; worse, that she didn't deserve it because of the life she led. That realization moved him and shook him as nothing in his life ever had, his heart constricting so much that he hurt with her, and made him want with everything inside him to take that hurt away.

Her barriers went right back up afterward, as he knew they would, and she was as touchy as a bear with a sore paw about her meltdown. She had her claws ready to rip him to shreds the first time he alluded to her meltdown by either word or action, but although it took just about all the willpower he had, he did his best to treat her as though nothing untoward had happened. Intuitively he understood that she needed someone she could trust with something as intensely personal as this, someone she could talk to if she could ever bring herself to unbend that far, who could accept her for who she was, the light and the dark. He believed he could be that someone. He _wanted_ to be that someone.

Moreover, she badly needed what he had to give. He didn't agree with a lot of the choices she made in her life, but he didn't condemn her for them, either. Those choices cost her dearly, shriveling the natural spiritual buffers of faith and hope until all that was left was the cold insulation of an imprisoning emotional mask. He wanted to be the one to release her from that prison, to lift the mask when the weight got too heavy. Lexa needed to learn that she didn't have to be in control 24/7, that every now and then it was okay to lean a little bit on someone else. That required trust, and he thought he made a good first step in earning it after her brother died. She opened up to him, if only a little and only briefly. Responding as he did might make it easier for her the next time.

And there could very well be a next time, he reflected as he sipped his cooling cappuccino. She seemed to look at him with new eyes these days, and there was a noticeable thawing in her demeanor towards him. She actually sought him out occasionally during quiet evenings at Sanctuary, and he found her to be an engaging companion, as long as the topic wasn't her, with an aces chess game and a wickedly dry sense of humor. He, in turn, was more at ease around her, confident enough to tease her, to argue with her, and it pleased him to no end whenever he managed to discomfit her by pushing a few of her buttons. They weren't on an equal footing quite yet, but they were getting there. Where it would lead Jesse had no idea, but for the first time he was beginning to enjoy the chase. He would probably end up with a few scars of his own, certainly not a pleasant prospect, but what was life without a little risk? Lexa was worth it. If he played his cards right, they might actually have something good together.

Dinner last night was the first move in his new campaign to win her. They had all agreed that they needed to start discussing contingency plans for what they felt was an inevitable reckoning with the Dominion. Originally they were going to go out for a beer and a bite to eat, but then Brennan bowed out, opting to remain behind in case Shalimar called. Jesse quickly took advantage of the opportunity by choosing a restaurant with a much more romantic ambience than he would had there been three of them, a charming little out-of-the-way trattoria of which he was fond. He rattled off their order in flawless Italian, selected a wine with the expertise of a connoisseur, and in general treated her with a debonair Continental charm that he never displayed around Sanctuary.Jesse knew he scored some major points when she couldn't quite hide a flicker of surprise at this hitherto-unknown side of him. So far so good.

They made some decent progress over the excellent risotto and exquisite veal Milanese, hammering out a list of things they would need if, in the worst case, they had to abandon Sanctuary, but despite the seriousness of the subject, there was a certain… something… between them just beneath the surface, a feeling that he couldn't put a name to. Intimacy was too strong a word; it was more like an undercurrent of ease, or a gradual relaxation of their respective guards. Whatever it was, for the first time Jesse thought he was making some headway. Now he needed to capitalize on it. But how? A movie was the safest bet, but he didn't think that 'safe' was the right way to go. Lexa responded to action. Would she agree to a full-fledged date, without the pretense of Mutant X business to use as an excuse?

The rapid click of approaching boot heels on the tile floor distracted him from his dilemma. Looking up, he saw Lexa coming toward them with a determined stride, her body language closed and tight. Involuntarily, Jesse tensed. He knew trouble coming when he saw it.

"You fueled up the Helix yesterday, didn't you?" she asked Brennan, coming to a stop between them.

Brennan regarded her warily over the top of his screen.

"And did a routine check on the flight systems, why?"

"I'll explain on the way." She turned and started back the way she came, expecting the others to follow.

"Whoa!" He rose, moving with deceptive speed to slide his bulk in front of her, cutting her off. "On the way where?"

"Yeah, and what's the big rush?" Jesse put in. He was also on his feet.

Lexa stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"We need to get to San Francisco. I think someone may be going after Shalimar."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

William Kensington, of Kensington, Harris and Stowe, looked like he could have played the venerable family attorney on any number of television shows. With the touch of silver in his dark hair, tailored three-piece suit and fatherly air he looked every inch the part. His office was completely in keeping with the occupant, from the framed diploma from Harvard Law School to the matching sofa and client chairs in hand-tooled Moroccan leather; from the burnished 18th century desk to the authentic Egyptian antiquities spotted here and there through its spacious confines. Everything there was quietly but unmistakably the very best, with an understated elegance that reflected the firm's exclusive clientele. The expensive atmosphere added another notch to Shalimar's tension, although Olivia didn't seem to be bothered by it. Thank God she had chosen to bring the stylish suede outfit she now wore instead of giving in to her original in-your-face pique and showing up in biker leathers. This way she could at least pretend that she didn't feel quite so out of place.

Introductions were made, and the ladies shown to their seats. A polished, middle-aged woman with a professional air entered with a tray holding a finely-wrought silver coffee pot bearing the mark of a famous Boston silversmith and delicate china cups. She served coffee all around, left the tray on a side table, and departed. Olivia handed him the folder she brought with her. Kensington laid it on his desk and picked up a portfolio embossed with the law firm's crest.

"Your late father's attorney overnighted all of the pertinent documents," he said to Shalimar, "I have here a copy of his will, with the section regarding your bequest tabbed for your convenience, with a separate itemized listing detailing the securities and devices involved." He gave a short smile. "I'll translate the legalese for you, take you through it step by step and answer any questions you may have, but perhaps you would care to peruse them for a moment while I examine the documents your mother provided. I will, of course, need to see your own identification – your driver's license, Social Security number, that sort of thing." He rotated the portfolio around and slid it toward Shalimar while she dug her ID out of her purse and presented it to the barrister. All was silent in the office for a long time except for the soft rustling of papers being shuffled. Presently, Kensington looked up.

"Yes, these all seem to be in order." He shifted a second portfolio from the corner of his desk and opened it. "Naturally, there are a number of papers to be signed and notarized. My executive assistant has them prepared, and she is a licensed notary. We can have all the arrangements completed today. Do you have any initial questions, or shall I begin going through the will with you?"

Shalimar looked up slowly. She was holding one of the papers in both hands, her eyes wide with shock. It took her a moment to find her voice, and when she did the words came out in almost a squeak.

"Am I reading this right?"

The attorney reached across and took the sheet from her shaking hands.

"Yes, you are," he said, "As I said, there is a complete listing of the holdings bequeathed to you, but this summary is quite correct. Your father has left you five hundred thousand dollars in cash, an annuity of an equal amount, and a portfolio of stocks, bonds and other financial devices totaling approximately seven hundred thousand dollars, based on yesterday's market closing prices. In all, one point seven million dollars."

Olivia smiled and clasped her daughter's hand warmly. "You see, Kitten – your father never forgot you, never gave up hope that one day we would find you. I'm so happy for you."

Shalimar was still sitting openmouthed in stunned astonishment. The lawyer coughed apologetically.

"It was to be much more, but I'm afraid that the biggest portion of the holdings was in your father's company," he said, "As you may have heard, Naxcon suffered a devastating explosion and fire about a year ago, and folded shortly thereafter, which of course negated the value of the stock. Nevertheless, it is still quite a substantial bequest. Congratulations."

He handed the summary sheet back to the new heiress. Shalimar recovered enough to accept it with somewhat steadier hands and a whispered thank you. Kensington continued.

"There is a page there with the contact information of your father's financial advisor, or I can recommend someone if you don't have one of your own. You will no doubt wish to consult with someone regarding the proper handling of the securities, particularly if you wish to divest some or all of them. I should tell you that as of right now, only the cash is immediately at your disposal. Your advisor will be able to give you more information should you wish to liquidate some of the assets, as well as counsel you on the tax issues. Oh, and there's also this."

He dug under the papers and handed Shalimar a sealed envelope with her name on it, along with the notation "To be opened only in the event of my death", and signed by Nicholas Fox. She accepted it and turned it over, but it was blank except for that short screed.

"What's this?"

The attorney shrugged.

"I'm given to understand that it is a letter from your father," he said, "I have no information on when it was written, but it may be dated inside." He offered her a gold letter opener with a handle of topaz set in ebony from the handsome matching organizer on his desk. "You may open it now or later, whichever you wish."

Shalimar took the implement, and after a moment's hesitation slit the flap and slowly withdrew a single sheet of paper. She read it silently, her expression unreadable, and when she finished her eyes closed briefly, as if in pain. Olivia waited expectantly, but Shalimar didn't say a word. She just folded it up and replaced it in the envelope, then carefully stowed it in her purse.

Silence reigned for several moments, then the noted attorney cleared his throat.

"Well then…shall we go through the will from the beginning? I have my own copy here. If you'll turn your attention to page one…."

Upon hearing Lexa's pronouncement Brennan didn't hesitate. He immediately started toward the hanger, his long legs eating up the floor. The others weren't far behind.

"I take it this is coming from the Dominion?" Jesse asked as they hurried along in his wake.

"Yes, my contact just called. He didn't actually _say_ ….look, let me tell you both at the same time."

The engines were already firing as they hustled up the ramp. Lexa started to head for the copilot's chair, but Jesse caught her wrist. He shot a quick, meaningful glance at Brennan, at the grim line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders as the big man finished the pre-flight routine with snappy, practiced motions. Lexa nodded in understanding and stepped instead to the seat behind, more than willing to let Jesse be the buffer for the hot-tempered elemental.

Jesse slid into the chair and flipped the switch to close the hatch, then turned his attention to the navigation system. The Helix rose even before the hatch locked and shot toward the hanger entrance.

"So..," he said to Lexa as they cleared the opening and headed west, "The Dominion thinks that someone is after Shalimar?"

The tall brunette shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Not exactly…"

"Then what, exactly?"

"I don't think this is coming from the Dominion itself. I ….think my contact was acting on his own."

That certainly got their attention. Both heads swiveled toward her, although Brennan turned quickly back to his instruments. Jesse felt the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he called out of the blue to ask me if Shalimar went to San Francisco alone – and he emphasized _alone_. At first I thought he was going to gripe about the cost, so I told him that she did and that she flew commercial. He hesitated for a minute, like he was trying to make up his mind about something, and then he just started volunteering information. He's never done that before, not unless I asked him about something directly."

She paused for a moment, trying to think of the right words that would convince them. The evidence he gave her was admittedly circumstantial, but she knew clear to her bones, with the instinct of a professional agent, that she was right. MacGruff's thinly veiled warning was part of that. He didn't actually say that Shalimar was being targeted, he just laid out the facts as he knew them and let her draw her own conclusions. It was this hedging that made her believe that he was giving her this information on his own; that, and the way he told her. 'Hesitant' wasn't his style. If he didn't want her to know something, he just kept his mouth shut. This dancing around the topic wasn't at all like him, and that led to another question: why wouldn't the Dominion want them to know if someone was stalking a member of Mutant X?

But that was a question for another day. Lexa took a deep breath.

"Look, let me start at the beginning. Do you remember Damien Acosta?"

"From that mess at Naxcon last year." Jesse's blood chilled about twenty degrees. He wasn't likely to ever forget the renegade telepath/telekinetic and his horde of mutant-DNA-grafted foot soldiers. Brennan had been mortally wounded in that epic battle, and the team itself came within a cat's whisker of being captured or destroyed.* The memory still made him shudder.

"What about him?"

"Yeah, we haven't heard a peep about him since that facility blew up," Brennan said, "I thought the Dominion punched his ticket."

* _see "Threads", also on this site_

"No such luck. They've been trying, but they haven't been able to catch up to him long enough to do the job," she said, "Acosta went underground after he trashed Naxcon, hiding behind a bunch of aliases. The Dominion has found a half dozen so far, all connected to very profitable, medium-to-large sized companies. Their operatives have managed to infiltrate them, and they've been providing intelligence on those holdings, but Acosta himself stays away from the day-to-day operations."

"Are you trying to tell me that with all their resources, the Dominion hasn't been able to find this guy and take him down?" Jesse wasn't buying it for an instant. "He was supposed to be Number One on their hit parade."

"He is," Lexa insisted, "But every time they think they've got him tagged, he manages to slither away."

"Sounds like he's being tipped off from the inside," Brennan mused.

"That's what the Dominion Council thinks, but they can't figure out who the traitor or traitors could be. In the meantime, there have been some skirmishes between his people and ours, but nothing major until recently."

"What happened recently?"

"Two months ago a Dominion research facility was attacked and destroyed. One of the survivors swears that he saw a man shoot, and I quote, 'knives of fire' from his hands. Sound familiar?"

The two men exchanged grim looks. One of their main adversaries in the Naxcon fracas had been a DNA-grafted street thug with an identical ability. He was the one who set off the explosion that nearly killed Brennan. They knew it couldn't be the same man, since Shalimar subsequently took him out, but there was no doubt that if Acosta could create such powers in one man, he could easily do so in another. Besides, he had to get the DNA from somewhere to graft into that street thug, so there was at least one mutant out there with those abilities. Brennan could think of one right off the top of his head, but he was in federal custody – that is, if the feds hadn't already executed him. He was a psychopath too, just like the one at Naxcon. If Acosta had the connections and resources to spring someone like that from federal custody, then he was a far more serious threat than they knew. On the other hand, Brennan could think of at least two other possible scenarios that could also fit.

"Is that all they've got to go on?" he asked Lexa. He wouldn't put it past a couple of the black-ops agencies to use a maniac like that if the Dominion happened to step on the wrong toes.

"They're positive it was Acosta," Lexa assured him, "Since that first strike there have been an increasing number of assaults on Dominion-held facilities around the country, five in the last month alone. Several of the attackers have been traced back to known Acosta holdings. In addition, every one of the raiders they've managed to kill or capture had been grafted with mutant DNA."

"I guess Acosta got tired of staying in the shadows and decided to challenge the Dominion head-on" Jesse said.

"Big time," Lexa agreed, "Acosta has been gaining strength exponentially in the last six months, amassing huge amounts of cash and weapons, and the ranks of his grafted mutants are swelling. Not only that, but he seems to have made a major breakthrough in his genetic research program."

"In what way?"

"He hasn't been able to completely fix their little burnout glitch, but he has made great strides in stabilizing their genetic structure. The estimates so far indicate that he has managed to at least quadruple their lifespan. He's used it, too. These recent attacks have been increasingly better organized, the grafted mutants carrying them out better trained." She looked from one to the other, not even trying to hide her worry. "It looks like there's a major war brewing."

Silence fell as they all digested that, each lost in their own thoughts. The implications were clear. If such a full-scale war happened, there would be no way they would remain on the sidelines. Sooner or later they would be in it up to their necks, caught between the two titanic forces. When that happened, the odds of their survival were not good.

Jesse's brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him.

"Wait a minute. Something smells here. We were the ones who took out a major portion of Acosta's troops at Naxcon. If this has been going on for the last several months, why haven't we been brought in on this?

"They're hiding something." Brennan cut to the chase with quiet certainty. "There's something they don't want us to find out."

"Like what?" Mutant X's resident tech specialist glanced at the grim elemental for a long moment, then turned back to the tall brunette behind him, seeking an answer.

"I think…," she said hesitantly, "…they're afraid of us."

"They've got a right to be," Brennan muttered. He had never been exactly enamored of working for the shadowy group, and his distrust of them had been growing over the past few months. If he had his druthers he would just as soon tell them to take their agenda and stick it where the sun didn't shine. It was primarily his loyalty to Shalimar and Jesse, plus the acknowledgement that they were accomplishing at least some good in their missions, which kept him with the team.

Not that he had any use for the other side, either. To his mind, Acosta and the Dominion were flip sides of the same coin, manipulative, ruthless, and consumed with a lust for world domination. In a perfect world they would just take each other out and leave everyone else alone, but the world was far from perfect. All they could do at this point was continue working on their contingency plans, and keep their eyes open for treachery from either direction. In the end, though, it really didn't matter which side came after them. He wouldn't hesitate to burn down anyone who tried to harm those he loved.

Jesse was shaking his head incredulously.

"Come on – they can't be that stupid," he said, "After what happened at Naxcon, they don't seriously think we would even consider joining Acosta."

"Maybe not willingly, but ….look," Lexa looked from one to the other. "My contact sent me the reports on some captured raiders. There's something else different about this next generation of DNA-grafted attack squads. Acosta has done something to them to make every one of them fanatically loyal to himself."

"Some kind of brainwashing?"

She nodded, not quite repressing a shudder at the thought.

"It looks like it. Whether it's chemical or genetic is open to debate. It might even be telepathic. The point is they're afraid we could become a huge weapon against them – and they wouldn't know it until it was too late."

Brennan saw where she was going with this.

"And the easiest way to go about it would be to catch one of us – like Shalimar - alone and use her to bring in the rest."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, I get that," Jesse concurred, "What I don't get is why the Dominion thinks Acosta is going after Shalimar _now_."

"Too many coincidences keep popping up. First - doesn't it seem strange that Shalimar's mother suddenly contacts her out of the blue?"

"She didn't know how to reach her," Brennan said, "Shal said that her dad's old assistant only recently found her contact info among his papers."

"Right – his assistant….who now works in one of Acosta's companies….suddenly decides to go through some papers a year after her boss's death, and finds something like that out loose someplace as opposed to being, for example, in his office, which was destroyed in the first explosion, or his desk at home, the contents of which were checked by her at the time."

Put that way, it did sound pretty fishy. The two men looked at each other, tacitly agreeing on that. Lexa, however, wasn't finished.

"And then there's this little tidbit," she said, "A Dominion operative at Miami International Airport spotted Acosta getting off a private jet yesterday afternoon. The flight plan for departure had him leaving Miami mid-afternoon today for San Francisco."

"I'll call her." Jesse swiveled back around, his fingers reaching for the computer console, but Lexa cut him off.

"I tried that. There's no answer on her cell phone, or at her mother's number."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Jesse said, although he could feel ice starting to form in his gut, "They're probably just at the lawyer's office."

"And she could have left her cell on the charger," Brennan added, "It ran out of juice when we were talking last night."

They were grasping at straws, though, and they both knew it. Lexa was right; there were too many coincidences. They had to get to Shalimar right away. Jesse's fingers tapped through the navigation program.

"It's nearly 2600 miles, though, from Miami to San Francisco," he said, his tension easing a bit, "We've got time."

"Not as much as you think," Lexa informed him, "Acosta took off about ten o'clock this morning local time."

The two men checked their watches simultaneously, and anxiety spiked in the cabin as each did the math. Brennan's head snapped around angrily.

"Dammit, Lexa, if the Dominion knew where this guy was, why didn't they take him out there?"

She returned his look steadily.

"They tried. The sniper team they sent was found an hour ago in a luggage truck. Their necks were broken."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

The thought of someone that ruthless going after Shalimar sent chills down Brennan's spine, but he couldn't allow himself to think about that right now. Priority Number One was to reach San Francisco before Damien Acosta, and to do that he needed information. Pushing back the emotions that could only distract him, he called upon the discipline of his martial arts training to focus his mind on the formulation of strategy, thinking in terms of necessary information and forming a sort of checklist in his head.

"All right – the first thing we need to do is find out what Acosta is flying. Jess, can you hack into the FAA?"

"I'd be better off starting with the security systems at Miami International Airport," the team's tech specialist replied. He left the copilot seat for the computer station opposite Lexa and immediately set his fingers working. "If I can spot him on video, I can get the plane, and from there his call sign. Then I can track him through the FAA."

Brennan sent a glance over his shoulder. "Lexa, once he has a location, do you think maybe your Dominion buddies can arrange a nice ambush?"

"They probably already have something in the works", she replied, "After all, they've got hackers, too – not as good as Jesse, of course…." She sent a quick smirk across the aisle and received a pleased grin in response. "…but no slouches, either. I'm sure they already know where he is and what he's flying, so I have to think that they're scrambling every airborne resource they can get their hands on. That's a lot of sky, though, so I don't think we can count on them finding him and taking him out."

"Well then, how about getting someone already on the ground in San Francisco to keep an eye on Shal until we get there?" Jesse asked.

Lexa shook her head.

"That's not a good idea," she said slowly. The Dominion, though aware of Acosta's flight plan, evidently hadn't made the connection to Shalimar's sudden family reunion. MacGruff had, but he hadn't reported it to the Council, tipping off Lexa instead. She could only guess at his motives, but in this case their objectives coincided. The best thing for everyone concerned was for Mutant X to get to Shalimar first, quickly and quietly. Asking the Dominion for a babysitter would not only defeat the purpose, it could have some very unpleasant consequences. She had seen it happen before. "If we told them what was going on, it's a whole lot more likely that they would try to take her into "protective custody." She pantomimed the quotation marks and let them draw their own conclusions about what that entailed. "I'd just as soon not give them any kind of an excuse. Besides, I told you that I think my contact is acting on his own in giving us this heads-up in the first place. I don't want to call attention to that."

She also didn't want to call attention to the possibility that they might already be too late. Someone as intelligent and foresighted as Damien Acosta probably already had operatives of his own on station. MacGruff had dropped a hint along those lines, mentioning in passing that there didn't seem to be any 'unusual activity', as he put it, in the vicinity, but something like that could change in a big hurry. That was why she insisted they leave for San Francisco immediately. The fact that Acosta accelerated his takeoff from Miami made her uneasy, and not just because of the head start it gave him. It could be that Acosta hadn't expected Shalimar to take his bait so quickly, and so needed to make some adjustments to whatever plan he had in place. On the other hand, he could have left early because Shalimar had already been taken. There was just no way to know until they either reached her by phone or got within comlink range.

Brennan acknowledged the wisdom of her thinking with a grim nod.

"Okay. I'm going to need weather reports between here and San Francisco, with regular updates, including anything you can get on local wind patterns."

"I'm on it."

For several minutes the only sound in the cabin of the Helix was the sound of tapping keys. Brennan envied them the tasks that kept them occupied. For him there was only the monitoring of the instruments and keeping them on course, activities he could practically do in his sleep. It left his mind far too much leeway to wander into other areas, things that would only distract him and keep him from thinking clearly…such as picturing a brainwashed Shalimar standing beside Acosta and preparing to square off against her former teammates. The telepath might even want to claim her in a more personal way by mentally coercing her into his bed. He wouldn't put it past the son of a bitch, and bile burned hot in his throat at the thought.

_Stop it! _ Brennan clamped down on his wayward imagination with an iron will, trying to shut his mind to such destructive thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand. There was no sense in driving himself crazy by picturing a lot of scenarios that weren't even remotely possible. It was just his imagination, spurred on by his newly-admitted feelings for Shalimar, blowing things all out of proportion. Acosta had a big head start, but he was fairly confident that they could still beat him to San Francisco. The Double Helix was just about the fastest civilian ship in the air, easily capable of breaking Mach 1, something no executive jet he knew of could claim. The Helix had the added advantage of being small enough and maneuverable enough to land on a rooftop. Acosta would first have to fly into San Francisco International Airport, pick up a car or cab and drive into the city, and then spend more time trying to pinpoint her exact location. In contrast, they would be able to go right to Shalimar by tracking her comlink signal.

Brennan took a long, slow breath and exhaled the same way, trying to force himself to relax. He was getting himself worked up over nothing. Shalimar was fine; he would see that for himself when they reached their destination. In fact, she would most likely be ticked off when they descended on her, barging in on a very emotional reunion between her and her mother. It would look like he was being overprotective, just as when he drove her to the airport. Shalimar could take care of herself; no one knew better than he how formidable she was in a fight. Besides, she was with her mother in the upscale heart of one of the West Coast's largest cities. That wasn't exactly the optimum place for someone to try his hand at kidnapping.

Except… few things could spark terror in Shalimar, but an attack on her mind was one of them. Of all of them, only he could possibly understand what that was like. True, Jesse had briefly been a test subject at Genomex, but he had been out of it much of that time. As for Lexa, although her mind had been controlled through the implant that was once attached to her brain stem, when it was activated she had very little awareness of what she was being forced to do. Both of those situations were certainly very bad, but it wasn't like the brain-twisting Shalimar was subjected to at the psychotic hands of Gabriel Ashlocke, or the brutal plundering Brennan himself suffered from Mason Eckhart's pet telepath, a woman whose name he never even knew. They couldn't begin to comprehend the helplessness and horror of having your mind so ruthlessly invaded, of having your very thoughts stolen and corrupted; of knowing you were being mentally raped, _feeling_ it, but being powerless to do anything about it. Brennan felt beads of sweat dampening his palms as they always did when that memory raised its ugly head, his gut twisting itself into knots. He still had nightmares about it sometimes, and suspected Shalimar did, too. It wasn't something they ever talked about.

And he'd burn to a crisp anyone who ever tried to put her through that again.

Hacking into the security systems at Miami International Airport wasn't tremendously difficult for someone with Jesse Kilmartin's skill and equipment. Within minutes he was scrolling through the digital footage, concentrating on the civilian areas of the tarmac as he searched for Damian Acosta. Every so often, though, he glanced up at the big elemental in front of him. They were all a little wired that someone as powerful as Damien Acosta could be stalking Shalimar, but it seemed to him as if there was something different about the way Brennan was reacting. It wasn't as if he was climbing the walls or anything; he was as tightly in control of himself as ever. There was just something about the set of his shoulders, an extra degree of tension there that was palpable. Were Brennan's feelings for Shalimar changing, becoming deeper, more…personal? Studying the big man's body language, Jesse was willing to bet that's what was going on. Whether or not Brennan realized what was happening, though, was another question. He made a mental note to observe him carefully when they got to Shalimar; test his theory, so to speak. If he was right, things could get interesting around Sanctuary when they all returned from San Francisco.

Movement on the computer monitor distracted him from that intriguing train of thought. A luggage trailer towed by a nondescript airport tractor had been meandering innocuously across the concrete. Now suddenly it was accelerating, heading at top speed toward a private jet parked off by itself. Jesse watched as a portion of one of the yellow canvas sides was pulled back by someone inside. Tiny puffs of white, hard to make out because of the grainy quality of the video, appeared and disappeared in quick succession. In the next breath something unseen, like a gust of wind, rocked the trailer, and the tractor driver abruptly stiffened and then collapsed, causing the vehicle to veer off drunkenly. It careened across the tarmac, narrowly missing two mechanics and another luggage trailer, stopping only when it crashed into a boundary fence.

What the hell? Jesse scrolled back to the moment he first saw the trailer, then brought in footage from the adjoining camera to view on a split screen and increased the magnification. With the wider view the addition gave he could see what he hadn't before. A black man with a shaved head, dressed in a well-tailored suit, had been walking toward the jet when the trailer suddenly veered at him. The man stopped, his head jerking sharply to his right. He saw the trailer flap being pulled back and his hand shot up, palm outward. There was the faintest shimmer near the man, probably some kind of reflection off the camera lens. Little flecks of something the image wasn't sharp enough to adequately identify appeared to bounce off an invisible barrier. The vehicle kept coming at its top speed, making an angled run that kept the side of the trailer facing him. The man gestured sharply. The shimmer seemed to flash across the tarmac, striking the charging vehicle. The trailer rocked briefly on its right-side wheels, and the canvas side snapped violently inward. The driver suddenly jerked rigidly upright for a second, then slumped over the wheel, turning it abruptly away. The man on the tarmac watched it for a few seconds until it crashed headlong into the boundary fence, then calmly straightened his suit jacket and proceeded in an unhurried, even nonchalant fashion to board the jet.

Stunned, Jesse sat back. That had to have been the Dominion's sniper team, because although the black man's back was more or less to the camera, there was no doubt as to his identity. Jesse recognized the use of telekinesis when he saw it, and though the casually lethal way it was employed appalled him, the speed and efficiency with which Damien Acosta dealt with the assassination attempt was impressive. The whole attack hadn't taken ten seconds from start to finish.

This was something they would have to be prepared for if at some point they did face off against the renegade mutant. This video could be very useful to study in order to figure out some sort of defensive strategy. Jesse downloaded it to show the others later, then backtracked to watch his quarry approach the waiting plane. He whistled silently at the sleek, powerful aircraft and zoomed in to catch its markings. Once he had it tagged, he started pulling data on it.

"I've got the plane," he announced presently, "It's a Gulfstream G650, which is their top-of-the-line luxury jet. It's a pretty hot number, too. According to their website, it's a twin engine job with a top speed of around 600 miles an hour, and a range of about 7000 miles, so he won't need to stop to refuel. It can also cruise at 51,000 feet, so it can get above pretty much any weather it comes across."

"It figures." The big elemental cursed silently. The Helix was still faster, but not by nearly the margin he was counting on. Beating their foe to San Francisco just became a whole lot harder. "Have you got a location on him?"

"I'm working on it."

"Speaking of weather," Lexa interjected, "Ours looks good so far. We've got clear skies for the next 700 miles or so. I'm watching a small low pressure system over the northern plains; we may be able to pick up a tail wind over Iowa on the back side of it."

"I sure as hell hope so," Brennan muttered under his breath.

It was beginning to look like they were going to need all the luck they could get.

"I'll have the chicken marsala," Shalimar said to the polished young waiter who stood beside their table, his pen and pad poised attentively, "And a side salad with the house dressing."

"And to drink?"

"Mineral water with a twist."

"Yes, ma'am."

He finished taking their order with a few quick strokes, gathered up their menus with crisp efficiency, and bustled off.

After leaving the attorney's office Olivia had insisted on taking her daughter to lunch. Shalimar hadn't so much agreed as didn't actively resist. Even during the cab ride she made only desultory conversation, her manner closed and distracted. Now here they were, ensconced in a booth at a posh downtown restaurant reeking with Old World charm and elegance, and Shalimar was taking no more notice than if they had gone to a local burger joint. Olivia watched as the younger woman fiddled with her silverware, making minute changes to the implements' placing with the tips of her fingers, and very likely not realizing she was doing it. It wasn't hard to guess what was on her daughter's mind.

"Your father's letter upset you, didn't it?"

Shalimar slowly raised her head to meet her mother's shrewd gaze.

"He said all the right things; how much he loved me, and how he wished things hadn't turned out the way they had, but….," She broke off, picking up the fine silk napkin and spreading it slowly on her lap, trying to organize her thoughts. How could she put into words the aching hope that had sprung in her heart when William Kensington presented her with the creamy sealed envelope, hope that her father might have at last come to realize that he was wrong to try to 'fix' her; only to have that hope dashed as she read the soft, conciliatory words that slashed through her like a knife? He hadn't meant them that way; she knew that, but his bitterness about her mutantcy, though not expressly stated, permeated every line. Now he was gone, and the chasm that kept them apart could never be breached. She shrugged, trying to pretend as though her heart hadn't been ripped in two.

"He kept talking about how he wanted us to be a 'normal' family again," she said dully. Olivia's chin tilted in puzzlement.

"What's wrong with that?"

Didn't even her mother understand? "I'm not 'normal'!" Shalimar flashed fiercely, "Not the way he meant. I never will be." She flicked a quick glance at a waitress passing by carrying her tray and lowered her tone. "But Dad couldn't see that. He never stopped trying to find a 'cure' for me, as if I had some disease. He could never understand that the mutant and his daughter are the same person. I am who I am, and I _like_ who I am. My mutancy is a part of me, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

She swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to glitter with unshed tears.

"All I ever wanted was for you and Dad to accept and love me for who I was."

"'Who you were' was constantly changing," Olivia gently reminded her, "We did love you. We just couldn't keep up. You're comfortable with you who are now, but at the time it was the complete opposite. None of us knew, least of all you, what was happening to you; just that it was chaotic and extreme and painful - for all of us. But through it all, you were our daughter." She reached across the table and squeezed the younger woman's hand, looking deeply into the brown eyes so like her own. "You still are."

"You say that, but don't know anything about me," her daughter shot back, "I can do things, things you can't even imagine. I can climb walls without a rope, rip steel doors off their hinges…."

"Leap tall buildings in a single bound?"

That stopped Shalimar short just as she was working up a good head of steam. She couldn't help but smile at her mother's dry comment.

"Well…small ones, anyway. The point is, he kept trying to fit me into this mold of what he thought his daughter should be. I'm not that person. I never was. I'm different. I have friends who are different also, who love and accept me as a person as well as a mutant. Together, we use our abilities behind the scenes to try to make the world a better place."

"I'm glad, Kitten." Olivia's smile was filled with sincerity, "And I'm very, very proud of you. You've managed to take all that grief and pain and turn it into something positive. You've become a strong, confident, beautiful woman." She sighed wistfully, her smile dimming just a bit with melancholy. "I just wish I could have been a part of it."

A shadow of that same sadness and regret brushed Shalimar's face as she thought about what might have been – things like proms and high school sweethearts, family road trips and holidays, and so very much more. "Me, too. We've both missed out on so much." And yet, there was also the flip side. If her life hadn't gone the way it had, Shalimar wouldn't be the woman her mother just described. She wouldn't have been found by Adam, who explained what was happening to her and taught her how to use her abilities; gave her a home, another father, and a life that allowed her to be who she truly was. She wouldn't have had Jesse as a brother and a confidant, or Emma as the sister and friend who understood her as no other.

And she would have never met Brennan.

"I think…..maybe…..that sometimes things have to happen just the way they happen," she said, surprising herself with the sudden insight. Seeing the major events in her life from new and different angles had helped put everything into perspective. There would always be regrets about the past, but somehow they didn't seem to matter as much anymore. She had her mother back, and was looking forward to exploring a new chapter in her life with the man she loved. Everything else paled to insignificance.

"We have a second chance now," Olivia said softly, echoing her daughter's thoughts, her eyes bright and moist, "We can't get back what was lost, but we can go forward. It won't happen all at once, but at least we've found each other again. For that, I feel…..blessed."

The waiter chose that moment to return with their order, giving each woman a needed distraction. Conversation fell silent as they both applied themselves to their meal, allowing them time to regain their composure. It wasn't until the dishes were being cleared away and dessert ordered that Olivia spoke again, but this time there was a glint of mischief lurking behind her placid expression.

"Now then, speaking of going forward, let's talk about more important things – like when I'm going to see my first grandchild."

Shalimar had been refreshing herself with a drink of water when her mother launched that little bombshell. It promptly when down the wrong way, making her explode in a fit of coughing and sputtering, just as the older woman planned. Large, stunned eyes rose up from behind her napkin.

"Grandchild?!" she squeaked when she could finally draw a breath.

"Well, yes," Olivia said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I'm not getting any younger, you know. I would very much like to see my only daughter settled down with a family of her own, particularly kids that I can spoil rotten and then give back to you to deal with. It's the revenge every parent hopes to visit on their children."

Shalimar felt her face turn bright scarlet.

"What?" Olivia was enjoying her daughter's reaction immensely. "Doesn't your young man want children? Or are you the one with reservations?"

"We haven't … we're nowhere near that stage. There are … complications."

Olivia shook her head.

"There always are. And if you'll allow some motherly advice – there always will be." Her tone softened, becoming more serious. "It's how you deal with them that counts. It can bring you together or tear you apart. That's the difference between a lover and a spouse, Kitten, and it goes both ways. If, as you said, he accepts you for who you are, then _you_ have to accept _him_ for who _he_ is. I know you said you're not anywhere near that stage, but you need to keep that in the back of your head for when you do get there. You can't let your temper take over. Don't be so quick to assume that you know what he's thinking, or that he knows what you're thinking. You have to _talk_. And be honest. Focus on reaching a solution _together_. That's the key. If you remember that you're in this together, and to reach out _toward_ each other, then you'll be able to weather any storm." Her eyes lowered, but Shalimar could still see the regret for the ashes of a love that once was. "It was a long time before I understood that."

"Is that what happened between you and Dad?"

"In hindsight, I think it was. We turned away from each other to deal with our grief. He focused more and more on building his business, and I pulled everything inside. Doing that created a gap between us that only widened with time, until finally it was too big to bridge." Her eyes lifted again, and she faced her daughter earnestly. "Don't let that happen to you."

They finished their lunch in silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts. After paying for the meal, they stepped out into the sunshine. A liveried doorman hailed a cab for them and open the door when one pulled up. Olivia got in and started to slide over to give her daughter room, but Shalimar hesitated.

"You know what – I think I'd rather walk back. There are some things I need to think through."

Her mother wasn't surprised. "Are you sure you can find your way back?"

The feral smiled. "I'm sure. But here – take this for me." Not wanting to be encumbered with it, she unslung her purse from her shoulder and handed it through the open door. Olivia accepted it and nodded in understanding.

"I hope you'll be back in time for dinner," she said, "Gene flies in this afternoon, and I'd like you to meet him."

"Lady, in or out," the cabbie complained.

Both women shot him a glare, which made him shut up. Shalimar stepped back.

"I'll see you later," she said, and stepped back to allow the doorman to close the door. Olivia gave her a little wave as the cab drove off.

Shalimar watched it until it rumbled out of sight, then slowly started to drift along in its wake, steering through pedestrians on autopilot, the line of shops and boutiques for which San Francisco was famous no more than a colorful blur. Her mind was too full, her emotions too tumbled, for anything so mundane to capture her attention. Even a street vendor who placed himself directly in her path elicited no more notice than an iron lamppost. She simply stepped around him and went on, not even registering his obnoxious sales pitch or the lightning changes in his demeanor as he went from oily persuasion to disgusted frustration at her inattention. It was as if he didn't exist.

Shalimar thought that she had dealt with her "Brennan issues" as Lexa termed it, last night when she finally admitted to herself that she loved him as more than just a teammate. Since then she had been riding that idyllic high, and she couldn't wait to get back home so they could take their relationship to the next level. This was the real thing; she felt it deep in her bones. She had found her true mate, and there was no looking back.

Now, though, it appeared that there were more 'issues' than she realized. Olivia had put her finger squarely on the biggest one: children. Shalimar had been too caught up in the here and now, in the immediate future, to even think about long-term things like marriage and having kids. The comment had blindsided her, and she realized she had to face it and come to grips with everything that entailed. Brennan wanted kids. Did she? The truth was she didn't know how she felt, simply because she had never seriously considered the possibility of being a mother before. That came under the realm of 'someday'; her current thoughts on the subject began and ended with making sure she kept her birth control up to date. Certainly her own childhood was enough to make anyone gun-shy about parenthood, and her chosen lifestyle was too hectic, too violent, to make it practical or even reasonable. Not only that, her missions with Mutant X, not to mention her ongoing mutation, made it all too possible that she wouldn't even be around to raise a child properly. Her kid could be stuck in some foster home with parents who had no idea what they were dealing with, or worse yet, thrown into an institution just like she had been. Her teeth set in a grim line at the thought. That was one thing that was crystal clear and set in granite – if she ever did become pregnant, there was no way she would ever allow any child of hers to go through what she did.

Her steps slowed even further. What would it be like to have a baby of her own? She and Brennan would become lovers once she returned home; that was a foregone conclusion. She couldn't wait to be with him, to feel him thrusting deep inside her, filling her with his seed. Her heart fluttered wildly at the thought, heat flushing her from the core outward, and it seemed as if every hormone in her body started leaping in excitement. There was no chance she would get pregnant right away, of course, not until she went off the pill, but if she did – and the _if_ was what she needed to decide upon - it would be inevitable. Could she be with him, in all fairness and honesty, if she decided that she didn't want children?

It was more likely, though, that her feral nature would favor life, and the fact that it would be _his_ child might make all the difference. She let that thought sink in. Would she know immediately when his seed took root? Her hand lifted to rest lightly on her flat belly. How would it feel to experience the slow rounding of her body, the marvel of this tiny miracle; her child, _Brennan's_ child, moving, growing, inside her? How would it feel to give birth? To have that new life, the evidence of their love, placed in her arms? A warm glow filled her heart as she pictured the infant nuzzling at her breast taking his first meal, with Brennan wrapping them both in a loving embrace. The image took her breath away.

So caught up was she in her reverie that she didn't notice the three figures detaching themselves from the shadows of the alley she was approaching and drift into an encircling formation. In fact, she knew nothing at all until two of them seized her arms and bum-rushed her down the alley. Chiding herself for this very uncharacteristic lapse in knowing what was going on around her at all times, she restrained her immediate prey impulses and allowed herself to be hustled around a corner into a service offshoot containing a loading dock and a dumpster. One of the thugs leaned close to her ear.

"Oh, we're going to have ourselves a _good_ time," he whispered. His hand started sliding toward her thigh. She felt her adrenaline begin to pump in heady anticipation of what would come next, and her teeth gleamed white as she smiled.

"Well, one of us is."

His pungent breath was as much of an assault on her feral senses as his hand was, and now that they were out of sight from prying eyes, she saw no reason to endure it for another second. She whirled, snapping her elbow into the man's jaw, and was pleased to hear a betraying crunch. He howled in agony and went down. The other two, surprised that their petite victim was putting up a fight when by rights she should be cowering against the dumpster, closed in. Hands dipped into pockets, and a pair of switchblades flicked open with audible twin _snicts_.

"You shouldn't have done that, little girl," the second one said. He was bulkier than the first, his eyes white and dilated from meth or some other pharmaceutical. "Now we're gonna do you real slow, and all the kung fu crap in the world isn't going to help you." He motioned to his partner, and the two started to close in from either side.

Shalimar's lips spread into a predatory grin.

A few people on the street saw the hoodlums hustle the pretty young woman into the alley and hovered uncertainly around the entrance. They peered in anxiously when they started hearing thuds and groans, the unmistakable sounds of a fight, but none of them were brave enough to risk injury to themselves by trying to intervene. A couple of them pulled cell phones out and dialed 9-1-1, but were left with their mouths hanging open when, before they could even give the police the location of the assault, the 'victim' reappeared, alone, unhurt, and with a satisfied smile on her face.

Shalimar strode briskly toward the mouth of the alley. There was nothing like kicking a little bad-guy ass to clear the cobwebs from one's brain. Those punks had done her a favor in more ways than one. Besides the exercise, which she thoroughly enjoyed, the randomness of their attack reminded her how quickly the circumstances of a person's life could change. There was no need for her to start obsessing about might or might not happen down the road. Though she discovered that she was more than open to the thought of making babies with Brennan, that decision didn't have to be made just yet. For now she would just concentrate on the now, enjoy becoming lovers and letting their relationship deepen and grow before worrying about the happily-ever-after. There was too much uncertainty facing them all, from the Dominion to Bishop's warning about an approaching final battle, to speculate about the future. _Carpe diem_, she told herself, and let the chips fall where they may.

A motherly-looking woman who looked to be about fifty approached her cautiously.

"Are you all right, honey?" She glanced fearfully down the alley, as if expecting the thugs to come boiling out of there at any moment.

Shalimar's grin widened. "Never better." She started to cut around the gathering and continue on her way.

"But honey – your hand is bleeding."

Shalimar stopped in surprise. She hadn't felt either of the knives connect, but sure enough, a trail of blood was leaking through her fingers. Turning her hand over, she saw a sizeable cut across her palm. The woman stepped forward and took her hand.

"Better let me have a look at that," she said, with a bob of her short, salt-and-pepper head, "I'm an ER tech at St. Francis Memorial."

"It's fine, really – it doesn't even hurt," Shal protested. The gash was messy; blood was dripping off her hand, but that was all it was. She started to wipe it off reflexively, but remembered her suede jacket just in time. The woman fished a travel-sized pack of Kleenex from her pocket and pulled one loose.

"Let's clean that up and see what we've got," she said. Shalimar stood passively so she could clean the wound. It was better than having to explain the blood on her clothes to her mother. Strange, though, that she still didn't feel any pain from the cut.

The woman pressed the Kleenex into her palm. Shal felt something sting, like the stab of a needle. In the next heartbeat the knockout drug hit her system like a tidal wave, roaring over her senses. Instinctively, she tried to fight back, grabbing the woman's muscular arm in a crushing grip, but it was too late. The knot of passersby before them seemed to waver, then dissipate like smoke on a breeze. All of her senses seemed to follow suit. An overwhelming weakness seized her; she felt her knees buckle. A curtain of darkness rose up, shrouding her mind in a sea of black. The last lucid thought she had before it took her was to wonder why a middle-aged woman would have the scent of a man.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

Like a great, graceful eagle the Double Helix soared through the heavens, her sleek hull slicing easily through the billowing clouds of a gathering storm. Brennan kept a close eye on the instrument panel as he guided the ship, his hands strong and steady on the controls. Lexa had warned him of the approaching weather system, but as it was still developing he elected to stay on course for the time being. He had flown through storms before, so he knew what to expect, and he knew the capabilities of the craft he was piloting. The Helix was a sturdy little ship, able to withstand a pretty fair amount of buffeting, and her electronic systems were well shielded. If the storm blew into something really severe he had the option of climbing above it, but chances were good that they would be through the system and gone long before it got to that point. The shortest distance between two points was a straight line, and Brennan meant to keep to that line as much as possible, storm or no storm. It would save time, which could well be in short supply. They were in a race with a dangerous sociopath, and every minute might count.

Utilizing information gained by hacking into the Federal Aviation Administration's network, Jesse had been able to track Damien Acosta's plane as it traveled across the country, and even managed to locate him visually on satellite. At the most recent check a few minutes ago he was flying over northeastern New Mexico. The renegade mutant had begun the race with a substantial head start on them, but the Helix was steadily eating into that lead. They themselves had just crossed into Colorado. Soon the Rocky Mountains would rise before them like a great stone barrier, but once cleared, Brennan figured to close the gap even further over Utah and Nevada. According to the computer projections, at their present rate of speed they would arrive in San Francisco slightly ahead of the other jet. With luck they would be able to collect Shalimar and be on their way back to Sanctuary before Acosta had a chance to realize that his plan had failed. That is, if nothing went wrong.

But what if it didn't work out that way? What if they had to slug it out? Brennan's blood went cold at the thought. Damien Acosta was reminiscent of Gabriel Ashlocke in that he was a very powerful telepath/telekinetic who had no qualms about using his abilities to their most lethal effect. They needed to have a plan ready just in case; _he_ needed to have a plan. Though the team developed strategy for their missions together, if things got hairy in the field the others subconsciously looked to him for leadership. It wasn't a role he sought, just one that he sort of fell into, but it was a responsibility he accepted and took seriously, so he needed to be prepared. If push came to shove their lives might depend on him having something, or preferably several somethings, up his sleeve.

It would have been helpful to see the man in action during the Naxcon battle in order to get some kind of read on the scope of his abilities, but unfortunately that hadn't happened. Brennan was forced to rely on Jesse's description and what he could find out from the mutant database, as well as his experience with similar talents, to develop a battle plan. He already knew something about telekinesis; it was a versatile power, one that in theory could use just about anything around as a weapon. Any power had weaknesses, though, just as any person had limits on how much energy they could expend at any given time. Acosta was trying to keep a low profile in his pursuit of Shalimar, and with his arrogance no doubt thought he could capture her alone. That may or may not be true, but he didn't know the rest of the team was racing him to San Francisco. If it came down to a fight Mutant X would have a four to one advantage. That ought to be enough to take him down.

Ordinarily, that is. The problem was he wasn't only a telekinetic, he was also a telepath of unknown strength and ability. Telepathy was a power with a lot of nuances. There were several in the mutant database; some could read thoughts but not project, some could project their thoughts but not read others, and there were a few who could do both. Two could not only do that, but also influence other minds. Damien Acosta was one of those two, and that was what made him so dangerous. If he was able to get to Shalimar first, he could invade her mind, warp it and turn her against them. _Over my dead body,_ Brennan swore.

He drew a deep, calming breath, forcing himself to relax. Don't even go there, he told himself. They were going to get to Shalimar first. That was a given. What he had to focus on now was the possible scenario that, if or when they clashed, Acosta might telepathically sense whatever strategy they had prepared. That was what Brennan would have to find a way to counter.

But how the hell did you fight someone who knows what you're going to do as soon as you do? _The same way you fight any opponent_, his old Green Beret mentor seemed to whisper in his ear, _by exploiting their weaknesses. Everyone has them_.

Right. Weaknesses. This should be no more difficult than any other fight. All he had to do was break down Acosta's abilities and analyze them, just as he would analyze a martial arts opponent's fighting style. He was good at that. Start with the most dangerous aspect, and go from there. So – what would be the limitations of telepathy?

Proximity was one. The telepath who tortured him had to have touch contact. Brennan quickly squashed the reflexive wave of horror and gut-wrenching nausea that the memory still evoked and forced his mind back to the business at hand. Where was he? Right – the effective range of Acosta's telepathic ability. The mutant database's profile on him didn't mention that particular detail, and from Jesse's and Lexa's descriptions of the Naxcon battle it didn't appear he needed physical touch to get inside another's mind. Neither of his teammates, though, could guess with any kind of accuracy how close he had to be to be effective, and Lexa was reluctant to call attention to themselves by trying to pull information on him from Dominion sources. Dead end.

Perhaps he could come at this from another angle. Telepathy, like telekinesis, was a mental power. Both required a certain amount of focus, so perhaps the best way of tackling it was to disrupt the mind. Sound would do it; at Naxcon Jesse had broken Acosta's mental hold on the Helix by bombarding him with alarms pumped out through the Helix's external speakers. Then he swung the ship around and blasted him with the jet's backwash. That did the trick, and allowed the team to make their escape.

This looked promising. They probably couldn't use the Helix that way again, but there were other ways to distract someone. Bright light could do it, like Lexa's light burst, or perhaps even his own electricity. Surprise, though, was vital. Without it they were dead. That brought him back to the possibility of telepathic eavesdropping. Maybe they could overload him; use coordinated attacks from different directions and in unexpected ways. If they could keep hitting him hard and fast, too fast for him to keep up, they might be able to keep him off balance long enough to take him out. Brennan knew from personal experience that a good distraction at the right time could be just as effective a weapon as any of their powers. The way this was shaping up they might just need all the weapons they could get.

The great stone fortress of the Rocky Mountains loomed into view. Brennan made an altitude adjustment and went back to his planning. It was likely that Acosta would be doing the same thing; unless he planned to let his DNA-grafted minions do all the heavy lifting, he had to know that he would be engaging Mutant X at some point. He had security footage from the Naxcon fight to study, so he would know some of their moves. That kind of predictability could get them in serious trouble. The smart thing to do would be to throw some twists into the mix, think of some new ways to use their powers individually and collectively. With this problem to gnaw on as an alternative to driving himself nuts with worry over Shalimar, Brennan felt some of the tension ease from his body as he immersed himself in analyzing and breaking down their usual fight patterns. Soon his mind was swirling with different stratagems, combat sequences and team pairings as he guided the ship westward over the towering peaks.

A row behind and across the aisle from the big elemental, Lexa Pierce cast covert glances at her teammates as she worked away on her computer, ready to flip to another screen at a second's notice if necessary to hide what she was doing. Brennan wasn't a problem; as long as she kept him supplied with up-to-date weather information he was well occupied with his piloting and his deep, and she suspected intensely personal, concern over Shalimar. Jesse, however, kept moving back and forth between the computer station opposite her and the copilot's chair. She had to be ready in case he stopped by to check on her progress.

She was supposed to be setting up personal history profiles to match the multiple new ID sets Jesse was creating for them. They all agreed that a showdown with the Dominion would happen at some point, so it behooved them to begin making some preparations. Over dinner last night she and Jesse made a laundry list of things they would need when it came down to war with the Dominion, and divided it up four ways. Because of her familiarity with Dominion procedures, creating separate and distinct computer identities that they weren't likely to stumble over was one of the main items on her to-do list.

Lexa had done some preliminary work on this, but there was something more vital that she had to take care of first. Everything they came up with was important in its way, but it was all part of a defensive strategy, a fail-safe position in case Sanctuary was compromised. Against an opponent with the vast resources of the Dominion, however, a defensive strategy alone was pitifully, even fatally inadequate. They had to do something to take the offensive, lessen the enormous odds stacked against them, and that was what the tall brunette was working on.

A pre-emptive strike at Dominion Headquarters was what was called for here, a multi-pronged attack calculated to inflict the maximum amount of damage before the Dominion even knew anything was happening. The tactics she employed would need to take down several targets at around the same time, her sabotage spread around to affect as many areas as possible, and tie up manpower and resources that would otherwise be used to overwhelm them. If she could do that, maybe the rest of the team would have a fighting chance.

The first step was to hit them where they were most vulnerable – their dependence on technology. Everything ran off their super-sophisticated computer system, including those nasty sub-dermal governors which effectively bottled up the use of a mutant's powers. The system was both their greatest strength and biggest weakness. To that end she spent weeks secretly creating a core-killer supervirus, utilizing highly advanced and decidedly virulent code streams gleaned from some of Adam Kane's private files. It was ready now. All she needed was an unguarded terminal. Once uploaded, she could move on to her next target while the virus, aptly named 'Kane Mutiny', propagated itself invisibly throughout the system. It would then suddenly burst to life, corrupting both software and hardware simultaneously throughout the system, and generally making the entire network freak out. The resulting uproar should provide her with a dandy diversion, enabling her to get to the Council chamber and clean a few snakes out of that rattler's nest. Ultimately, she hoped to get to their boss, the one they called 'The Creator'.

This was a mission she had to undertake alone. The others were babes in the woods when it came to this kind of thing. Her stealth capabilities and professional experience, her knowledge of Dominion security procedures and building layout made her the only one who could do the job. She was also the only one with the stomach to do what must be done. Assassination wasn't a pretty word, but there were some who really deserved it. The Dominion Council was a pit of pure evil. Maybe she could spare MacGruff – she hoped so - but the others had to go. The best way to kill a snake was to cut off its head, or in this case, heads. It was that black and white.

The others couldn't know about this. At the very least they would demand to go with her, and that she could not allow. Her chances for success were slim enough as it was. Jesse in particular would vehemently object because of his growing feelings for her. That kind of sentiment would only get him killed. She might not be the right woman for him – Lord knew she wasn't exactly the domestic type – but she would do whatever she could to keep him alive long enough for him to find someone who could make him happy and give him the children he wanted. That was the least she owed him, and so she kept on with her preparations, trying to plot out each step of the operation while keeping a surreptitious eye on Jesse, as well as staying abreast of weather conditions for Brennan. Fortunately, she was good at multi-tasking.

Jesse spent the trip shuttling back and forth between two stations, dividing his time between co-pilot duties, monitoring Damien Acosta's progress across the country, and his own part of their contingency preparations. Using the Double Helix's link to the systems back at Sanctuary, he was overseeing the copying of data to a brand new stand-alone server. Once everything was downloaded it would be placed in a secure location that Brennan found, providing them with an offsite backup of virtually all the data currently contained in the main system if they should ever need it.

He wasn't so caught up in his duties, though, that he didn't recognize the tension that permeated the cockpit. Brennan's was a no-brainer. He had always had a special kind of feeling for Shalimar, but perhaps now he was coming to realize just how special. Lexa, on the other hand, had a much quieter vibe going on. It wasn't just silence; there seemed to be an underlying edginess, even furtiveness, in her demeanor that had been present ever since they left Sanctuary. Jesse couldn't quite put his finger on why he thought this, or even explain how he came to be so acutely sensitive to her moods in the first place. He tried to tell himself that he was imagining things; Lexa had been secretive and intense for as long as he had known her, so this was nothing new. Unfortunately, he couldn't get himself to buy it. There was something just a little bit different, a subtle nuance in her manner that concerned him. It felt… tighter, darker …like she was unobtrusively closing off a part of herself, a part that she didn't want to be seen. He had seen this behavior in her before, this donning of her emotional armor, in those moments when the shadows of her previous Dominion work crept over her like some ghostly shroud, but he couldn't fathom why he was seeing it now. Did Lexa know more about Shalimar's situation than she was telling, or was this just her inclination of expecting the worst coming to the fore? Or was it something else entirely?

Before he could speculate further, his attention was distracted by movement on the screen dedicated to following Damien Acosta's plane. He sat up straighter and zoomed in on the activity.

'Hey – I've got something."

Lexa rose from her chair and moved to look over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Acosta. It looks like he's getting jumped by a pair of gunships." He tapped a couple of keys, pulling the focus even closer. Lexa leaned in for a better look.

"That's the Dominion, all right. I told you they probably had something up their sleeves."

"Good," Brennan muttered from the pilot's chair, "Maybe they'll whack the bastard and save us the trouble."

Jesse tried to ignore the feathery brush of Lexa's hair against the collar of his shirt. With narrowed eyes he stared at the screen, watching the action unfold. It was over in a handful of seconds. He sucked in a breath, felt Lexa's gasp against his cheek. Slowly his head lifted. He looked past her and met Brennan's eyes with an expression of disbelief.

"Don't count on it."

The stately Gulfstream jet cruised effortlessly over the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains through clear skies which allowed Damien Acosta a birds-eye view of the panorama below. The name, which translated literally as "the Blood of Christ", was said to come from the red color of the range at some sunrises and sunsets, especially when the mountains are covered with snow. There was no red now, of course, being the middle of the day, but the scenery was still compelling, and Damien was a man who appreciated beauty in any of its myriad forms. These hills didn't have the picture-postcard majesty and splendor of the Colorado Rockies or the Swiss Alps, but there was a ruggedness here that appealed to him. The topography of New Mexico, with its scrappy cacti and hardscrabble terrain, was a reminder of how hard he had fought to get where he was now. In this unforgiving land, life was about struggle and survival, a place where the harsh realities of life were distilled to their purest essence, and only the strong survived.

He felt that essence touching a place deep inside, perhaps because he was preparing for his own battle for survival, an epic chess game that would change the balance of power throughout the world. It was always meant to be thus. Ever since he first became aware of the Dominion he had known that there wasn't room for both of them in the behind-the-scenes shadow game of global domination. They had ruled for over two hundred years, directing the evolution of science and technology as they saw fit, but now their time was done. His star was ascending, his plans were set, and the two were now on a collision course with destiny. Only one piece remained to set into place, a catalyst to put it all in motion, and he was on his way to obtain that now.

The Dominion Council had to be frustrated. Despite their best efforts he was still alive, his organization was flourishing, and his incisive, sometimes uncanny strikes at their most closely guarded facilities was draining them of both resources and prestige. They knew he had to be getting his intelligence information from the very top, but their attempts to find the source of his pipeline were maddeningly fruitless, for the simple reason that his spy didn't know he was a spy. By now they must suspect that he was getting his information telepathically, but how could they figure out from whom, much less how to stop it? Damien could perceive hints of desperation beginning to creep into Dominion operations, an almost frenzied increase in raids against his holdings. Perhaps they were coming to realize that their window of opportunity to stop him was shrinking fast. The assassination attempt on him this morning in Miami was a case in point.

He hadn't been surprised by the attack itself, but by the public nature of the hit. Shooting up an international airport in full view of an array of security cameras was not the way the Dominion usually handled such things; they preferred to keep a lower profile. An ambush over the Gulf of Mexico was more to be expected – what could be cleaner than having his plane disappear into several hundred feet of water- but it hadn't occurred. In fact, the flight had been remarkably quiet. Damien was puzzled. Once they knew the shooters at the Miami airport had failed, it should have been child's play to get his flight plan and discover his destination, if not his purpose. He knew they had air resources, some of them military-grade. What were they waiting for?

A distinctive buzz from his Iphone pulled his attention from the question. An uneasy premonition fluttered through him when he saw it was a text message from Allan Dawson, the agent he had watching the feral, Shalimar Fox, in San Francisco. Could something have gone wrong with his plan? Damien thumbed the screen to access the message.

_Package secured, usual place. Unavoidable._

Damn! Damien set the device down with a snap at this unexpected development. What could have caused this? Dawson had been under strict orders not to take Fox into custody. Her acquisition had to be handled carefully in order to keep her teammates, and in particular the Dominion Council, from suspecting anything until it was too late. What made Dawson move prematurely? More importantly, did anyone else know Fox had been captured?

Dawson said the situation was unavoidable, but offered no details as to why. Damien had used the man before, and he had always been reliable. There was no reason at this juncture to think otherwise. The situation seemed to be under control, but there were ramifications that had to be considered. Damien steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his luxurious chair, trying to think this through.

This development might actually work to his advantage. The Dominion knew he was heading to San Francisco, but they didn't know why. Presumably, since they were keeping a very close eye on Mutant X these days, they also knew Fox was in the city visiting her mother. On the surface there was nothing to connect the two, but if a Dominion agent happened to spot him near the mother's place, where he originally planned to take her, the Council might have put two and two together. This way, if Dawson had been able to acquire Fox without being seen, and given the nature of his power that was likely, then Damien would be able to collect his prize without anyone being the wiser. Their usual meeting place was several blocks from the penthouse.

Still, Damien couldn't help coming back to the _why_, the reason Dawson hadn't waited for him as per orders. Probably the cause was legitimate. On the other hand, man had been very full of himself lately. During their phone conversation earlier in the day his subordinate had been both smug and cocky, and Damien was well aware that he had ambitions of rising in the organization. The latter wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but taken with the former could be a dangerous combination for a task as sensitive as this. Damien shook his head, dismissing the notion. Ambitious he might be, but Dawson wasn't stupid enough to jeopardize the operation unnecessarily, not when he had been warned in no uncertain terms about the importance of this assignment. Damien would have his head – literally.

The sudden, sharp crackle of the plane's intercom interrupted his thoughts.

"Mr. Acosta – unidentified craft approaching fast!"

Even as he leapt to his feet and hurried forward Damien could feel the plane rise in a precipitous climb. The pilot shot a quick glance over his shoulder when his employer entered the cockpit and stood behind him.

"Helicopters, sir, two of them. They just popped up on the screen from below the range line, like they were waiting for us or something."

"I'm sure they were. You're climbing to evade?"

"Yes sir. At twenty-three thousand feet and climbing we're already above their maximum altitude, but …"

He never got the chance to finish the thought. A strident warning tone blared through the cockpit.

"Sonuvabitch – missiles incoming!"

Damien gripped the man's shoulder.

"Relax, Captain," he said evenly, "I'll take care of this. Continue to climb, but bank the plane back toward them – I need to be able to see the incoming missiles."

The terrified pilot glanced back over his shoulder in wordless incredulity, but obeyed nonetheless. Damien really couldn't blame him. He had no idea what was about to happen. All he knew was that a pair of missiles was inbound at the jet he was flying, and that death was imminent. With his hand still on the pilot's shoulder, Damien sent a telepathic pulse into his mind, calming him and focusing his attention on the actions required. Later, Damien would erase his memory of this little incident, but for now there were more important matters to deal with.

So this was the Dominion's strategy. They had probably been tracking him via satellite, and were able to plot his course in time to set up what he had to admit was a flawlessly-planned, lethal ambush. The mountains hid the helicopters until they could pounce, and the speed of the attack wouldn't give their quarry enough time to climb out of range. The jet wasn't armed, and had very little in the way of defenses. The missiles, whether Stinger, Sidewinder, or something equally deadly, shouldn't have any problem destroying the aircraft and all aboard. Any debris that wasn't vaporized would be spread over a large area of very rugged, inaccessible terrain No doubt the authorities, when or if they were alerted, would determine that this was the result of some sort of mechanical failure; a tragic accident with no survivors. So sad, but it happened all the time. Case closed.

Unfortunately for them, the assassins didn't know who they were dealing with. Peering out the cockpit window, Damien reached out with his mind, sending probing tendrils of telekinetic energy fanning out through the sky between the Gulfstream and the hovering copters. The timing here was going to be a little tricky. These missiles would be traveling at several hundred miles per hour, and the effective range of his telekinesis was only a couple of hundred feet. He felt confident that he could locate them in time, but finding them and dealing with them were two different things. He couldn't just form a telekinetic wall to stop them, or simply slam them together, as the detonation point would be uncomfortably close to his aircraft and might damage it. If he could turn them, however, gently and precisely enough that they didn't explode, he might be able to send them back from whence they came.

He concentrated harder, and almost immediately picked them up, two slivers of white against the green/brown background of the earth below, coming toward them at a phenomenal rate. Damien focused on first one rear stabilizer, then the other, crimping each downward to give himself more time. It was delicate work, and for a few heartbeats he was afraid that he was going to have to detonate them anyway, but then the projectiles shifted, their paths taking them around the plane. The pilot sighed in heartfelt relief, but Damien wasn't finished yet. He tweaked the stabilizers again, and watched them veer away even further until they completed a 360 degree arc. The two choppers, after a moment of stunned amazement that the two rockets were now inexplicably headed back in their direction, scrambled to get out of the way. They just barely made it. The missiles impacted into the side of a mountain, sending up an enormous cloud of earth and debris.

A satisfied smile touched Damien's lips. It would have been nice if he could have destroyed the pair, but he had known it was extremely unlikely, as his powers couldn't reach far enough to guide the missiles that precisely. Still, it was close enough, and the enemy pilots had to be staggered at how they could have been turned like that in the first place. They would report back to the Dominion Council, leaving that august body to some wild conjecture as to just how powerful he really was. They were already paranoid about him, and this could only add to it.

That was a good thing.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 12**_

It took Shalimar a moment to remember to breathe. A lot of things clicked into place. _He's a mutant, he has to be, and a powerful one to be able to generate such a detailed illusion and hold it this long without apparent effort._ The audacity, the scope of the thing was breathtaking.

Whoa, girl, she cautioned herself. Slow down. You _heard_ the mug strike the bars. She considered that for a moment. The crack of the mug exploding against the bars might have been a sound effect. Now that she thought about it, she had a vague recollection of his left hand sliding into his pocket as he tossed the mug with his right. Seeking a way to test her theory, she got up and began to prowl the confines of her 'cage' in a circular route that took her near the bars. If his little demonstration had been real, she should be able to feel pottery shards crunching underfoot.

Nothing.

She made another circuit, thinking furiously. Something else had occurred to her, and she could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner. This close to the bars, she should have been able to feel the subtle hum of the electrical current pulsing through the wiring, just as standing next to Brennan when he fired off a charge made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. Here there was no such feeling. Adrenaline began to push through her veins, clearing the last vestiges of the drug. She felt her pulse begin to quicken, just as it always did before a fight. He was keeping her prisoner with tricks, acting ability, and the pure nerve of a gambler facing down a flush while holding nothing more than a bobtailed straight. That was about to change. She just needed to time it right.

Dawson couldn't help but admire Fox's supple, feline grace as she started to pace restlessly around her cell like a captive tiger. No doubt about it, she was a hot-looking woman, and if circumstances were different he might consider taking a run on her himself. She was fast, strong and feisty, and he liked that in a woman as long as she knew her place. Taming this one would be fun, and given her powers not without risk, but a little danger added spice to the chase. If she got uppity – well, he knew her Achilles heel, and with his powers of illusion he could toy with her until she cracked; plus he had a couple of other surprises up his sleeve. She'd never know what hit her.

He saw her stop at a respectful distance from the bars, her eyes narrowing as she examined the wiring more closely for a moment before moving on. At one point she paused to pick up the cord that had bound her ankles, fiddling with it as she continued her circuit. He watched her, the cord in her hands making him think of bondage of a different, more erotic sort. That might be interesting once he had brought her to heel. Then with a sort of inward sigh, he dismissed the fantasy. Hot she might be, but if Mr. Acosta wanted her, whether for sex or any other reason, he wasn't about to get in the way. He didn't need that kind of trouble.

No sooner did that thought enter his head when, in a blur of motion so fast this eyes could barely track it, Fox flung the cord right through the bars of her cell. A heartbeat later she followed with a panther-like bound that brought her right at him, feet first. Her flying kick sent him reeling back into a wall, jarring his concentration so much that the mirage vanished. A spacious apartment appeared around them, tasteful and well furnished, complete with sliding glass doors leading to a railed balcony. He wiped a smear of blood off his lip with the back of his hand, his features twisting in a vicious snarl. It looked like he was going to have his fun and games after all, but she needed to be taught a lesson.

"You're gonna pay for that, little girl."

Even though Shalimar was half-expecting it, the towering circle of fire that suddenly surrounded her sent a shockwave of primeval terror surging through her, freezing her in her tracks. A couple of seconds later her senses confirmed the illusion, allowing her mind to shake free of the paralyzing fear, and she whirled just in time to defend against Dawson's attack. His fist whistled past her face with centimeters to spare. A high block stopped his next strike, then she slipped inside his guard to land a short blow to the jaw that spun him around. He tried again, launching a flurry of punches and kicks so fast and skilled that it was impossible to evade them all.

Somehow, she did so.

As Shalimar moved to counterattack, reality suddenly dissolved into psychedelic chaos, the room warping like images from a funhouse Hall of Mirrors. Something huge and monstrous came at her from the midst of the contortions. She backflipped to put some distance between them, but her depth perception was compromised. One foot came down on what felt like the edge of a coffee table, the other on pure air. She fell, crashing hard on one knee. Crossed forearms blocked the oncoming blow, and a swift yank added to his momentum to send him tumbling over that same table. Reality snapped back into focus.

A quick roll put some distance between them, enough space to allow her to assess the damage. The knee would probably sport a bruise tomorrow, but that appeared to be the extent of it as she rose to her feet without any feeling of lameness. Shalimar snatched a quick glance at her surroundings, trying to fix them in her head should the illusionist try that stunt again, but he had something else in mind. He grabbed a nearby shelf and hauled himself to his feet. As his hand left the shelf she could see it come away with a club of some kind. Holding it partially hidden behind his body, he approached warily.

Shalimar recognized the weapon the instant his arm swung up. 'Shock stick' was the colloquial name for the electrically-charged clubs that Genomex's Genetic Security Agency forces favored for addressing recalcitrant mutant behavior. It was sort of like a taser in that it pumped a stunning charge of electricity into the body through the conducting contacts, but unlike the taser it was used at close range. Shalimar had intimate and painful knowledge of its effectiveness. If this guy was an ex-GSAer, that would explain a lot.

With a banshee yell Dawson charged, brandishing the sparking weapon. Shalimar braced herself, preparing to meet his rush and deflect it harmlessly aside. Astoundingly, her grasping hand went through his arm like it was smoke, throwing her off balance. In the next instant something hard and invisible jammed into her side, sending electricity ripping through her body. She screamed and staggered back a couple of steps. He charged again, allowing her no respite. Once again she set herself to block his upraised arm, and again it was an illusion, the club connecting with her stomach this time. The jolt nearly paralyzed her with white-hot pain, dropping her to the floor and all but putting her out. Instinctively Shalimar tried to crawl backward, to put some space between them and buy herself some time. If she took one more shot it was all over.

"_So fight back."_

_Brennan materialized from the graying edges of her consciousness and hunkered down in front of her. She glared up at him. _

"_You're a big help!"_

_He shook his head._

"_You don't need my help. You can do this."_

_He wasn't really there. She knew that. The real Brennan would have intervened immediately whether she needed help or not. A part of her recognized that she was actually arguing with herself, but it didn't stop her from being irritated as hell at the simulacrum's complacent treatment of her situation. Her temper began to flare._

"_Easy for you to say!"_

_He shrugged._

"_Do you want us to become lovers or not?"_

"_Yes!"_

"_Then get it together and take this guy out. You knew he could make you see things that aren't there; now you know he can hide things that __are__ there. But you don't need to see to fight, and that's your edge. You have other senses. Use them. Break free. Nothing you dreamed about for us can happen if you don't. It's as simple as that."_

As simple as that. Deep in her heart Shalimar knew she was on the verge of finding something she had been searching for her whole life. She felt it coming together last night, when he wrapped her in a virtual embrace, so magical and yet unquestionably real in ways she could barely fathom. The prospect of being taken away, of never knowing love with Brennan, was more than she could bear. A hidden wellspring of power suddenly erupted from the very core of her being. With a titanic effort she fought past the pain and forced her mind into some kind of focus, closing her eyes and concentrating with all her might on the rest of her feral senses. The crackle of the club, the displacement of the air, the acrid smell of electricity, the subtle friction of fabric as he shifted, all told her what she needed to know. She blocked the oncoming blow with a nanosecond to spare and kicked out with her leg. Dawson's feet were swept out from under him, and he landed on the floor with a hard thud.

He wasn't out, though. She could tell that much. Her muscles still trembling in reaction to the jolts of electricity, she made it to her knees and risked opening her eyes. It looked like Dawson's head might have hit the arm of the big chair, as her surroundings had snapped back to normal. It was just a glancing blow, damn the luck, but it was enough to slow him down for a second. The club had been jarred from his hand, but even as her pain receded she could see him rolling after it.

_Oh no you don't! _Shal lurched forward, grabbed him by the boot and hauled him back. He cursed and tried to kick her with his other foot, but she was quicker and easily dodged the blow. The instant she let go the air seemed to shimmer, and then he vanished.

Not that it mattered. She had a fix on him now, and she knew where he was headed. Like a cat after a mouse she pounced. He reappeared with a loud _oof_ as her knees drove hard into his spine, his flailing hand flopping just inches from the shock stick. She seized him by the hair with her left hand and rolled off him, dragging him another foot away from the weapon. Cursing viciously, he swung at her wildly, missing as she swayed out of reach with feline speed. The punch left him wide open, and Shalimar was quick to oblige. Her haymaker caught him flush on the point of his chin, and just like that the fight was over.

Brennan ended up landing the Double Helix on top of a hotel a block away from the GPS location. He wasn't happy about it, but it was the closest building that was both large enough to land on and high enough that the sound of the landing, as well as the accompanying jet wash, wouldn't be readily detected by people on the street.

By mutual agreement Jesse stayed aboard the Helix to continue tracking Damien Acosta electronically while Brennan and Lexa followed the GPS signal from Shalimar's comlink. They located the alley where she had the run-in with the trio of thugs without difficulty. Even though they already had a pretty good idea of what they would find, it was still a shock to discover her ring sitting in the grit and refuse of the alley floor where it had been carelessly tossed. Lexa thought she saw something like despair in Brennan's face as he bent down and picked it up, but when he slowly straightened, it was expressionless, all iron control, his jaw as square and hard as granite.

"Jess, we found Shal's ring," he said, his tone flat and unemotional, "Do you still have tabs on Acosta?"

"Yeah, I've got him; I was able to break into the GPS on the limo. He's on the Bayshore Freeway, coming up on Highway 280."

"How far from this location?" Brennan asked the question on the premise that whoever had Shalimar hadn't taken her too far. There was no basis for that supposition; he understood that, but if nothing else it gave him a reference point.

"Hard to say. If that's where he's going, or at least the general vicinity – with what I can see of the traffic patterns, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Don't let him out of your sight." He turned to the tall brunette. "Lexa, why don't you see if you can spot any security cameras nearby? If you find one, head back to the Helix and hack in while Jesse stays on Acosta. Maybe we can get a jump on this guy. I want to take a look around this alley. I'll meet you back at the Helix in…" he glanced at his watch, "…ten minutes."

Lexa met his eyes steadily. It was a good performance, she had to give him that. He really looked and sounded as if the urge to put his fist through a wall in sheer frustration was the furthest thing from his mind. A lot of people might have bought it, but Lexa knew more than a little about self-discipline and masks herself, and she was well aware of the gut-wrenching anxiety slashing through him right now, as well as the pride involved in maintaining control. She could see it in the involuntary twitch of his jaw muscle, the rigid set to his shoulders, the unconscious clench of his fist around Shal's ring. She started to raise her hand, to offer a touch of comfort, but restrained herself. There was nothing she could say, really, and offering useless platitudes had never been her style. The best thing she could do for him right now was to do as he asked, give him some privacy to vent if he needed to. There was an unwritten code among those of the warrior breed, and particularly prevalent with the testosterone-laden alpha set, all of which described Brennan, about not letting anyone see your weaknesses if you could help it. She understood that because she followed the same creed herself. Because of that, she kept her opinions to herself, and with only a nod of acknowledgement turned and strode out of the alley.

Brennan watched her go with a gratitude he wouldn't ever admit, then turned back to his task. It was a given that he would find some sort of sign; there was no way, even if she was outnumbered, that Shal would be taken without a fight. Sure enough, he found indications of a struggle near a battered dumpster; there were some spatters of blood and even a tooth that didn't look like they had been there all that long. He couldn't be sure because they usually left that kind of information gathering to the feral's infinitely keener senses, but once upon a time when they were stuck on a series of boring stakeouts Shal had undertaken to teach him the rudiments of tracking in an urban environment. One of the lessons involved how to discern the little things that separated a fresh sign from something older, and another how to look for tracks even on pavement. He sought to put those lessons to good use now,

He hunkered down to study the ground near the dumpster. Most of the scene was pretty scuffed up; not unexpected if there had been a fight. A little further on he found one or two marks that might have been made by a petite foot. Or not. The distance between them looked about right for Shal's walking stride. They pointed toward the mouth of the alley. He moved on, seeing a crushed leaf here, a smeared bit of oil there, until he got to where he found her ring.

And that was it. If there was anything further, he just wasn't skilled enough to recognize it. Shalimar was gone, taken God knows where, and there was nothing he could do about it. Failure lay like a crushing weight on his shoulders. The only chance now was to follow Acosta's limo and get to her before he could sink his slimy mental claws into her. If they couldn't….

_Don't go there!_ he commanded himself, but for once his mind refused to bend to his will. It insisted on tormenting him with recent images of their time together; teasing her as she dangled from his snare, tumbling through leaves in the woods, holding her while she cried. He couldn't lose her now, not when they were on the brink something so special. He couldn't bear to think of what might be happening to her right now. Rage, helplessness and cold terror mixed with potent elemental energy, boiling inside him until he could barely breathe, building and building until he thought he would explode. With her ring digging into the palm of his tightly clenched fist, his other hand shot skyward. A raw, primal sound ripped from his throat as lines of blue fire lanced from his fingertips.

For a moment Shalimar just sat there, resting on her heels as she caught her breath and shook off the last effects of the electrical zaps she endured. She couldn't help smiling a little at her victory, but then the professional took over. She reached across Dawson's supine body and picked up the shock stick. It was a temptation to use it on him just to show him what it felt like, but in the end she decided against it, snapping it in two pieces with her bare hands. She was going to need answers from him, and pleasant though it was to contemplate, shocking him unconscious was not the way to get them. She would just have to use her own, more personalized methods.

He was starting to groan a little as she sifted through his pockets. Her comlink ring wasn't there. She grimaced in disgust. He probably left it in the alley where he kidnapped her. What she did find the key to her broken handcuffs. She got them off, and after rubbing her chafed wrists for a moment, continued her search. There wasn't much else in his pockets, so she had to settle for going through his wallet. His driver's license gave her a name to go with the face, something she would have Jesse run through the mutant database at the earliest opportunity. There were also membership cards to several local casinos. Evidently her boy here liked to gamble. He probably thought of her kidnapping in that light. Shalimar's grin widened. He must not have seen all those warning commercials about betting with your head, not over it. He was definitely in over his head when it came to taking her on. Talk about crapping out.

The rest of the contents of his pockets told her nothing of importance. She needed answers, and it looked like she was going to have to get them the hard way. Thinking of her treatment in the last few hours, she couldn't be more pleased at the prospect.

Shalimar leaned over Dawson and began to lightly slap his cheeks. As soon as it looked like he was coming around, she rolled him onto his stomach, put her knee on his neck, and twisted his right arm behind him. He groaned again and opened his eyes to pain. Recognizing his predicament, he tried to break free, but the grip that held him was like a vise, and he only succeeded in making the pain worse. The feral bent his hand back, applying leverage, bringing a new round of sulfurous curses from her victim.

"If you so much as _think_ about creating another one of your illusions, I'm going to rip this hand off and stuff it down your throat," she said in a low, silky voice, "Got it?"

When he didn't answer immediately, she pressed harder. He screamed as the blazing agony tore up his arm. She eased off a little and repeated her question.

"All right, all right! No illusions!"

"Good boy.' With her free hand she gave him a little pat on the head. "Now – who set me up?"

"Kiss off!" he shouted. Shalimar shook her head. And here she thought he was intelligent. Probably he was expecting her to pressure his hand again, but that was taking too long, and she was nothing if not inventive. It was time to up the ante. He screamed again when she snapped his little finger.

"That's one. You want to try that answer again?"

Veins stood out in his neck as he gritted his teeth against the pain. She broke the next finger and was rewarded with an agonized howl.

"That's two. You know, I could keep this up all day – or at least until I run out of bones to break - but since your boss is supposed to be here soon, let's speed this up." She brought her hand in front of his face, letting him get a good look at her well-honed nails. Her hair tickled his ear as she leaned close, her soft voice almost a purr. "Since you like illusions so much, how would you like to live one 24/7?"

Dawson's face blanched. The fingers before him began to curl, and it seemed in his horror as though the nails were growing, becoming as pointed and sharp as the claws of a tiger. He jerked, a frenzied movement as he tried to pull away, but he was held as securely as if he were tied down. One finger slowly stroked his cheek. He felt the flesh part, leaving a trail of red.

"Hmm, that's a start. Let's see…" She traced another line down the opposite cheek, and let him see his blood on her fingers. There were some who would cavil at her methods of persuasion, but that the moment she couldn't care less. He'd forfeited any expectation of gentle treatment when he used that shock stick on her. A meat-eating smile touched her lips.

"These two little scratches might heal okay, but if you don't start talking, I'm going to cut a bone-deep tic-tac-toe board across your face. And if you really annoy me, one of the lines is going right across your eyes."

Dawson screeched, an inarticulate sound, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. He struggled again, wildly, desperately, with no better result that before. She placed her nail at his temple, letting him feel it pop through the skin and start blood trickling down toward his ear.

"_The name!"_

"Damien Acosta!"

Blinking in shock, Shal unconsciously eased up a fraction on her impromptu facial. The name was not one she expected. She well remembered the renegade telepath/telekinetic who crossed their path nearly a year ago, but they hadn't heard so much as a whisper about him since then. A shiver of fear rippled up her spine. Although she never engaged Acosta face to face, so he never got the chance to invade her mind, memories of Gabriel Ashlocke, and how it felt to have him inside her head haunted her. She refused to go through that again_. _She'd kill him first.

"What does he want with me?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" Dawson's voice rose a notch, broken and pleading. "He didn't say, and I didn't ask questions. All I know is that I was supposed to watch you until he got here!"

Shalimar believed him. The smell of his fear was potent and unmistakable.

"When is he due?"

"Any minute!"

A flash of lightning punctuated his words, suddenly splitting the late afternoon sky visible through the balcony's glass doors. Shal felt her stomach turn to ice. The bolt was a vertical strike, not cloud to ground as was found in nature, but the opposite. It was close, too, within a couple of blocks at her best guess, and too big to have come from something as mundane as a blown transformer. This had to come from a mutant, and its form and power were far too familiar to her for there to be any doubt. It must have come from Brennan.

What was he doing here? Did he come alone, or were the others with him? And what could have caused him to shoot off such a charge? A fight, obviously, but Brennan wouldn't light up like that where ordinary people could see it, unless he had no choice. The only cause she could think of that was dire enough and that close to hand was Damien Acosta.

There was no time to waste. If it was Acosta, and he was battling her friends, they would need her help. Her knee left Dawson's neck as she grabbed him once more by the hair and snapped his head around.

"Gotta go," she said, her voice low and menacing, "But if you ever come near me or mine again, I won't just finish carving up your face. I'll rip your heart out."

With one last contemptuous glance she threw open the balcony doors, leaped to the roof, and was gone.

"Brennan, are you all right?"

That was Jesse's voice coming over the comlink. He must have seen his bolt and thought he might be under attack. Brennan cursed himself, disgusted with his momentary loss of self-control. If the molecular had seen it from the Helix, chances were half the city had also. Hopefully no one would come to investigate the phenomenon.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Thankfully, Jesse was intuitive enough not to ask the obvious follow-up question. Brennan drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He had to put aside his emotions for now; he would be no good to Shalimar if he couldn't think clearly. The thing to do now was to get his head back into the strategies he devised on the way out to battle Acosta. It would be dangerous taking him on without any real preparation, but right now it didn't look like they had any other choice.

"Where is Acosta now?"

"He's made the turn onto Central Freeway; less than five minutes away. Both of you, come back to the Helix; we're going to have to let him lead us to Shalimar."

Lexa responded first. "This may help – I've spotted several security cameras in the area. If I help you hack in, maybe between us we can see who took her and where they went."

"Good work, Lexa. Brennan, did you find anything in the alley?"

"Nothing that would do any good." Frustration freighted his voice, lashing him with the reminder of his failure.

"All right, come on back. We'll follow him from the air."

Brennan acknowledged, and started down the alley. He would have to hustle; there wouldn't be much time to clue the others in on the strategies he devised. He made it about a dozen steps when something hit the ground a few yards behind him. He whirled, a fistful of lightning blazing in his hand ready to launch. Only finely-honed reflexes enabled him to restrain the blue-white fire in time as he recognized the slim figure who straightened and started toward him.

"Hey – watch where you're pointing that thing."

"Shal!"

The relief that sluiced off Brennan was so powerful that he was almost light-headed with it, banishing his anxiety and frustration as if they had never been. He drank in the sight of her as she approached, the familiar feline grace of her stride, the amused smile on her face, the tousled blond hair. He also noticed the redness of hands, the barked knuckles, and the stylish suede pantsuit now rumpled and a bit the worse for wear. She looked like she came fresh from a fight, though thankfully there was no sign of any injury that he could detect. In fact, she appeared completely, wonderfully normal, with that pleased little sparkle in her eye and unconscious swagger in her step that was always there after she had just kicked some bad-guy ass. Evidently her captors had underestimated her – and thank God for that. If they hadn't….it didn't bear thinking.

Seeing him standing there, with no sign of danger around him – and really him, her senses told her, not some kind of mirage - Shalimar felt her own tension fade to puzzlement. She was immensely glad to see him, of course, but she could discern nothing that would have caused him to fire off that lightning bolt. For that matter, now that she thought about it, what was he doing here in the first place? Did he fly out on his own because of last night and what was happening between them, or did the whole team come because they somehow found out about Damien Acosta stalking her? She was a little surprised at the small voice inside that hoped it was the former. Not that the latter wasn't a good reason, but it would be nice to know that he felt it, too; this new sense of closeness that seemed to be growing between them. On the other hand, if he didn't know about Acosta and had just flown out because he was feeling overprotective, she'd probably have to slug him on general principles. The nuances here were important. She stopped before him, tilting her head up inquiringly.

"Fancy meeting you here."

It was all he could do not to crush her in his arms and never let her go, but he figured she would probably split his lip if he did. This was not the time or the place to let her know how his emotions were running rampant at the sight of her safe and sound. With a huge effort he restrained himself and drew in a deep, steadying breath. "Lexa's Dominion contact tipped us off that Damien Acosta was after you," he explained, "It was because of him that your mom was able to get in touch with you. He arranged it on purpose so he could get you alone. We just spent the day racing him across the country to get to you first."

Shalimar stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Are you saying that my mother set me up?" No. She couldn't believe it.

He hastened to reassure her.

"No, no, it was all Acosta. He orchestrated this whole thing from behind the scenes, using your dad's old secretary to slip your contact information to your mom. She had nothing to do with it. Acosta just used her to get to you. All the way here we kept trying to warn you, calling both your cell and your mom's phone, but couldn't get an answer. And then we got here and I found this."

He opened his hand to reveal her comlink ring. She started to reach for it, but he was quicker. He caught her right hand and held it as he slowly slipped the gleaming circlet onto her finger. Immediately the unique sigils of her DNA appeared on its shiny surface. She looked up into eyes suddenly deep and filled with unspoken things, and felt her breathing start to quicken. Then he released it, and that mysterious look was gone as quickly as it appeared. Before she could do any more than register that her heart was unaccountably racing, Jesse's voice suddenly crackled over the comlink.

"Shalimar! Are you all right?"

The ring's activation must have popped up on the Helix's tracking system. Shalimar didn't know whether to laugh or groan. Jesse really needed to do something about his appalling sense of timing, but at least it allowed her to regain some measure of equilibrium. Brennan's teeth ground in frustration. She managed a weak chuckle.

"I'm fine, Jess."

She could hear his relief blow out in a long breath.

"Thank God. Listen, you two need to get back here asap. Acosta's limo is heading in your direction, maybe two minutes away."

He must be headed for Dawson's apartment. She didn't get out of there any too soon. "We'll be right there."

Ah, hell. Even if she did slug him, it would be worth it. Brennan couldn't stand it any longer. As Shalimar took a step toward the mouth of the alley, he reached out and snagged her around the waist, pulling her into a rough embrace. For a long moment he just stood there, his arms wrapped tightly about her slim frame.

Startled, pressed so close she didn't need her feral ears to hear the beating of his heart, she glanced up, and was surprised to see that he wasn't even looking at her. His eyes were closed, his visage cast into harsh planes by the subtle shadows of the alley wall. She read tension there easily enough, and yet there was something else in his familiar features, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She got a second surprise when she felt a tremor ripple through his big frame. Unbidden, one hand reached up to lightly touch his face.

"Brennan?"

He expelled a long breath, letting the last dregs of the rigidly coiled tension in his muscles drain away, and reluctantly let his arms loosen. His eyes opened to meet her mystified gaze.

"You scared me," he said simply. Man, was that ever the understatement of the year! He had never known such terror in his entire life.

Shalimar's heart melted. The big lug must have really been worried about her. Usually her response would be to remind him that she could take care of herself, but not this time. This time it felt good. Right. This was where she wanted to be.

In his arms, that is, not standing here in this alley. For one thing, the rotting garbage and other smells were getting pretty intense to her feral nose. For another, she wasn't in the mood to tangle with Damien Acosta. The moment would come later when she would return his embrace with her own, and let the love foretold to her take flight. Leaning against his hard, muscled body, she reached up, and her lips were soft and warm as they brushed his. Then she stepped back and slipped her hand into his.

"Come on – there's someone I want you to meet."

Damien Acosta stood in the middle of the room Shalimar Fox so recently quitted, and minutely straightened the cuffs of his impeccably tailored suit jacket. Silence settled like a velvet cloak around him. The battle had been invigorating but short, the outcome never in doubt. Beside him his dumbfounded chauffeur stared at the still, bloodied form of Allan Dawson, lying on the floor with his neck at a neatly perpendicular and wholly unnatural angle to his body.

As soon as he entered the apartment and saw that his prize had escaped, Damien knew what had to be done. He couldn't have his underlings defying orders. Dawson's arrogant impetuosity had wrecked a carefully planned strategy, and cost him a valuable asset in the bargain. Worse, the man even tried to lie to him, as if the facts weren't plain enough for even a blind man to see, let alone a telepath. Oddly enough, he seemed truly astounded when informed of the consequences of his rash behavior. How strange.

He would need another stalking horse now, something or someone else to spearhead his upcoming attack on Dominion headquarters. He would have to give it careful thought. Still, this fiasco wasn't a total loss. Damien gestured, and the area rug on which the body was lying wrapped itself around the corpse. He waved his man forward.

"Bring the body. We'll take it to the Providence facility. Mr. Dawson's DNA will be a useful addition to Dr. Harrison's grafting process. Let us hope that his recipients will be more… obedient."

He turned on his heel and strode leisurely from the wrecked penthouse.

_The End_

_Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed this story, which takes them right up to "The Assault'. Watch for 'Counterstrike!', my version of what happens next. It climaxes in a three way battle royal between Mutant X, Damien Acosta, and the Dominion, and involves the fate of Adam, the Creator, the team themselves, and perhaps all of mutantkind. All this, and some old friends come to call. Stay tuned! _

10


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter 12**_

It took Shalimar a moment to remember to breathe. A lot of things clicked into place. _He's a mutant, he has to be, and a powerful one to be able to generate such a detailed illusion and hold it this long without apparent effort._ The audacity, the scope of the thing was breathtaking.

Whoa, girl, she cautioned herself. Slow down. You _heard_ the mug strike the bars. She considered that for a moment. The crack of the mug exploding against the bars might have been a sound effect. Now that she thought about it, she had a vague recollection of his left hand sliding into his pocket as he tossed the mug with his right. Seeking a way to test her theory, she got up and began to prowl the confines of her 'cage' in a circular route that took her near the bars. If his little demonstration had been real, she should be able to feel pottery shards crunching underfoot.

Nothing.

She made another circuit, thinking furiously. Something else had occurred to her, and she could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner. This close to the bars, she should have been able to feel the subtle hum of the electrical current pulsing through the wiring, just as standing next to Brennan when he fired off a charge made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. Here there was no such feeling. Adrenaline began to push through her veins, clearing the last vestiges of the drug. She felt her pulse begin to quicken, just as it always did before a fight. He was keeping her prisoner with tricks, acting ability, and the pure nerve of a gambler facing down a flush while holding nothing more than a bobtailed straight. That was about to change. She just needed to time it right.

Dawson couldn't help but admire Fox's supple, feline grace as she started to pace restlessly around her cell like a captive tiger. No doubt about it, she was a hot-looking woman, and if circumstances were different he might consider taking a run on her himself. She was fast, strong and feisty, and he liked that in a woman as long as she knew her place. Taming this one would be fun, and given her powers not without risk, but a little danger added spice to the chase. If she got uppity – well, he knew her Achilles heel, and with his powers of illusion he could toy with her until she cracked; plus he had a couple of other surprises up his sleeve. She'd never know what hit her.

He saw her stop at a respectful distance from the bars, her eyes narrowing as she examined the wiring more closely for a moment before moving on. At one point she paused to pick up the cord that had bound her ankles, fiddling with it as she continued her circuit. He watched her, the cord in her hands making him think of bondage of a different, more erotic sort. That might be interesting once he had brought her to heel. Then with a sort of inward sigh, he dismissed the fantasy. Hot she might be, but if Mr. Acosta wanted her, whether for sex or any other reason, he wasn't about to get in the way. He didn't need that kind of trouble.

No sooner did that thought enter his head when, in a blur of motion so fast this eyes could barely track it, Fox flung the cord right through the bars of her cell. A heartbeat later she followed with a panther-like bound that brought her right at him, feet first. Her flying kick sent him reeling back into a wall, jarring his concentration so much that the mirage vanished. A spacious apartment appeared around them, tasteful and well furnished, complete with sliding glass doors leading to a railed balcony. He wiped a smear of blood off his lip with the back of his hand, his features twisting in a vicious snarl. It looked like he was going to have his fun and games after all, but she needed to be taught a lesson.

"You're gonna pay for that, little girl."

Even though Shalimar was half-expecting it, the towering circle of fire that suddenly surrounded her sent a shockwave of primeval terror surging through her, freezing her in her tracks. A couple of seconds later her senses confirmed the illusion, allowing her mind to shake free of the paralyzing fear, and she whirled just in time to defend against Dawson's attack. His fist whistled past her face with centimeters to spare. A high block stopped his next strike, then she slipped inside his guard to land a short blow to the jaw that spun him around. He tried again, launching a flurry of punches and kicks so fast and skilled that it was impossible to evade them all.

Somehow, she did so.

As Shalimar moved to counterattack, reality suddenly dissolved into psychedelic chaos, the room warping like images from a funhouse Hall of Mirrors. Something huge and monstrous came at her from the midst of the contortions. She backflipped to put some distance between them, but her depth perception was compromised. One foot came down on what felt like the edge of a coffee table, the other on pure air. She fell, crashing hard on one knee. Crossed forearms blocked the oncoming blow, and a swift yank added to his momentum to send him tumbling over that same table. Reality snapped back into focus.

A quick roll put some distance between them, enough space to allow her to assess the damage. The knee would probably sport a bruise tomorrow, but that appeared to be the extent of it as she rose to her feet without any feeling of lameness. Shalimar snatched a quick glance at her surroundings, trying to fix them in her head should the illusionist try that stunt again, but he had something else in mind. He grabbed a nearby shelf and hauled himself to his feet. As his hand left the shelf she could see it come away with a club of some kind. Holding it partially hidden behind his body, he approached warily.

Shalimar recognized the weapon the instant his arm swung up. 'Shock stick' was the colloquial name for the electrically-charged clubs that Genomex's Genetic Security Agency forces favored for addressing recalcitrant mutant behavior. It was sort of like a taser in that it pumped a stunning charge of electricity into the body through the conducting contacts, but unlike the taser it was used at close range. Shalimar had intimate and painful knowledge of its effectiveness. If this guy was an ex-GSAer, that would explain a lot.

With a banshee yell Dawson charged, brandishing the sparking weapon. Shalimar braced herself, preparing to meet his rush and deflect it harmlessly aside. Astoundingly, her grasping hand went through his arm like it was smoke, throwing her off balance. In the next instant something hard and invisible jammed into her side, sending electricity ripping through her body. She screamed and staggered back a couple of steps. He charged again, allowing her no respite. Once again she set herself to block his upraised arm, and again it was an illusion, the club connecting with her stomach this time. The jolt nearly paralyzed her with white-hot pain, dropping her to the floor and all but putting her out. Instinctively Shalimar tried to crawl backward, to put some space between them and buy herself some time. If she took one more shot it was all over.

"_So fight back."_

_Brennan materialized from the graying edges of her consciousness and hunkered down in front of her. She glared up at him. _

"_You're a big help!"_

_He shook his head._

"_You don't need my help. You can do this."_

_He wasn't really there. She knew that. The real Brennan would have intervened immediately whether she needed help or not. A part of her recognized that she was actually arguing with herself, but it didn't stop her from being irritated as hell at the simulacrum's complacent treatment of her situation. Her temper began to flare._

"_Easy for you to say!"_

_He shrugged._

"_Do you want us to become lovers or not?"_

"_Yes!"_

"_Then get it together and take this guy out. You knew he could make you see things that aren't there; now you know he can hide things that __are__ there. But you don't need to see to fight, and that's your edge. You have other senses. Use them. Break free. Nothing you dreamed about for us can happen if you don't. It's as simple as that."_

As simple as that. Deep in her heart Shalimar knew she was on the verge of finding something she had been searching for her whole life. She felt it coming together last night, when he wrapped her in a virtual embrace, so magical and yet unquestionably real in ways she could barely fathom. The prospect of being taken away, of never knowing love with Brennan, was more than she could bear. A hidden wellspring of power suddenly erupted from the very core of her being. With a titanic effort she fought past the pain and forced her mind into some kind of focus, closing her eyes and concentrating with all her might on the rest of her feral senses. The crackle of the club, the displacement of the air, the acrid smell of electricity, the subtle friction of fabric as he shifted, all told her what she needed to know. She blocked the oncoming blow with a nanosecond to spare and kicked out with her leg. Dawson's feet were swept out from under him, and he landed on the floor with a hard thud.

He wasn't out, though. She could tell that much. Her muscles still trembling in reaction to the jolts of electricity, she made it to her knees and risked opening her eyes. It looked like Dawson's head might have hit the arm of the big chair, as her surroundings had snapped back to normal. It was just a glancing blow, damn the luck, but it was enough to slow him down for a second. The club had been jarred from his hand, but even as her pain receded she could see him rolling after it.

_Oh no you don't! _Shal lurched forward, grabbed him by the boot and hauled him back. He cursed and tried to kick her with his other foot, but she was quicker and easily dodged the blow. The instant she let go the air seemed to shimmer, and then he vanished.

Not that it mattered. She had a fix on him now, and she knew where he was headed. Like a cat after a mouse she pounced. He reappeared with a loud _oof_ as her knees drove hard into his spine, his flailing hand flopping just inches from the shock stick. She seized him by the hair with her left hand and rolled off him, dragging him another foot away from the weapon. Cursing viciously, he swung at her wildly, missing as she swayed out of reach with feline speed. The punch left him wide open, and Shalimar was quick to oblige. Her haymaker caught him flush on the point of his chin, and just like that the fight was over.

Brennan ended up landing the Double Helix on top of a hotel a block away from the GPS location. He wasn't happy about it, but it was the closest building that was both large enough to land on and high enough that the sound of the landing, as well as the accompanying jet wash, wouldn't be readily detected by people on the street.

By mutual agreement Jesse stayed aboard the Helix to continue tracking Damien Acosta electronically while Brennan and Lexa followed the GPS signal from Shalimar's comlink. They located the alley where she had the run-in with the trio of thugs without difficulty. Even though they already had a pretty good idea of what they would find, it was still a shock to discover her ring sitting in the grit and refuse of the alley floor where it had been carelessly tossed. Lexa thought she saw something like despair in Brennan's face as he bent down and picked it up, but when he slowly straightened, it was expressionless, all iron control, his jaw as square and hard as granite.

"Jess, we found Shal's ring," he said, his tone flat and unemotional, "Do you still have tabs on Acosta?"

"Yeah, I've got him; I was able to break into the GPS on the limo. He's on the Bayshore Freeway, coming up on Highway 280."

"How far from this location?" Brennan asked the question on the premise that whoever had Shalimar hadn't taken her too far. There was no basis for that supposition; he understood that, but if nothing else it gave him a reference point.

"Hard to say. If that's where he's going, or at least the general vicinity – with what I can see of the traffic patterns, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Don't let him out of your sight." He turned to the tall brunette. "Lexa, why don't you see if you can spot any security cameras nearby? If you find one, head back to the Helix and hack in while Jesse stays on Acosta. Maybe we can get a jump on this guy. I want to take a look around this alley. I'll meet you back at the Helix in…" he glanced at his watch, "…ten minutes."

Lexa met his eyes steadily. It was a good performance, she had to give him that. He really looked and sounded as if the urge to put his fist through a wall in sheer frustration was the furthest thing from his mind. A lot of people might have bought it, but Lexa knew more than a little about self-discipline and masks herself, and she was well aware of the gut-wrenching anxiety slashing through him right now, as well as the pride involved in maintaining control. She could see it in the involuntary twitch of his jaw muscle, the rigid set to his shoulders, the unconscious clench of his fist around Shal's ring. She started to raise her hand, to offer a touch of comfort, but restrained herself. There was nothing she could say, really, and offering useless platitudes had never been her style. The best thing she could do for him right now was to do as he asked, give him some privacy to vent if he needed to. There was an unwritten code among those of the warrior breed, and particularly prevalent with the testosterone-laden alpha set, all of which described Brennan, about not letting anyone see your weaknesses if you could help it. She understood that because she followed the same creed herself. Because of that, she kept her opinions to herself, and with only a nod of acknowledgement turned and strode out of the alley.

Brennan watched her go with a gratitude he wouldn't ever admit, then turned back to his task. It was a given that he would find some sort of sign; there was no way, even if she was outnumbered, that Shal would be taken without a fight. Sure enough, he found indications of a struggle near a battered dumpster; there were some spatters of blood and even a tooth that didn't look like they had been there all that long. He couldn't be sure because they usually left that kind of information gathering to the feral's infinitely keener senses, but once upon a time when they were stuck on a series of boring stakeouts Shal had undertaken to teach him the rudiments of tracking in an urban environment. One of the lessons involved how to discern the little things that separated a fresh sign from something older, and another how to look for tracks even on pavement. He sought to put those lessons to good use now,

He hunkered down to study the ground near the dumpster. Most of the scene was pretty scuffed up; not unexpected if there had been a fight. A little further on he found one or two marks that might have been made by a petite foot. Or not. The distance between them looked about right for Shal's walking stride. They pointed toward the mouth of the alley. He moved on, seeing a crushed leaf here, a smeared bit of oil there, until he got to where he found her ring.

And that was it. If there was anything further, he just wasn't skilled enough to recognize it. Shalimar was gone, taken God knows where, and there was nothing he could do about it. Failure lay like a crushing weight on his shoulders. The only chance now was to follow Acosta's limo and get to her before he could sink his slimy mental claws into her. If they couldn't….

_Don't go there!_ he commanded himself, but for once his mind refused to bend to his will. It insisted on tormenting him with recent images of their time together; teasing her as she dangled from his snare, tumbling through leaves in the woods, holding her while she cried. He couldn't lose her now, not when they were on the brink something so special. He couldn't bear to think of what might be happening to her right now. Rage, helplessness and cold terror mixed with potent elemental energy, boiling inside him until he could barely breathe, building and building until he thought he would explode. With her ring digging into the palm of his tightly clenched fist, his other hand shot skyward. A raw, primal sound ripped from his throat as lines of blue fire lanced from his fingertips.

For a moment Shalimar just sat there, resting on her heels as she caught her breath and shook off the last effects of the electrical zaps she endured. She couldn't help smiling a little at her victory, but then the professional took over. She reached across Dawson's supine body and picked up the shock stick. It was a temptation to use it on him just to show him what it felt like, but in the end she decided against it, snapping it in two pieces with her bare hands. She was going to need answers from him, and pleasant though it was to contemplate, shocking him unconscious was not the way to get them. She would just have to use her own, more personalized methods.

He was starting to groan a little as she sifted through his pockets. Her comlink ring wasn't there. She grimaced in disgust. He probably left it in the alley where he kidnapped her. What she did find the key to her broken handcuffs. She got them off, and after rubbing her chafed wrists for a moment, continued her search. There wasn't much else in his pockets, so she had to settle for going through his wallet. His driver's license gave her a name to go with the face, something she would have Jesse run through the mutant database at the earliest opportunity. There were also membership cards to several local casinos. Evidently her boy here liked to gamble. He probably thought of her kidnapping in that light. Shalimar's grin widened. He must not have seen all those warning commercials about betting with your head, not over it. He was definitely in over his head when it came to taking her on. Talk about crapping out.

The rest of the contents of his pockets told her nothing of importance. She needed answers, and it looked like she was going to have to get them the hard way. Thinking of her treatment in the last few hours, she couldn't be more pleased at the prospect.

Shalimar leaned over Dawson and began to lightly slap his cheeks. As soon as it looked like he was coming around, she rolled him onto his stomach, put her knee on his neck, and twisted his right arm behind him. He groaned again and opened his eyes to pain. Recognizing his predicament, he tried to break free, but the grip that held him was like a vise, and he only succeeded in making the pain worse. The feral bent his hand back, applying leverage, bringing a new round of sulfurous curses from her victim.

"If you so much as _think_ about creating another one of your illusions, I'm going to rip this hand off and stuff it down your throat," she said in a low, silky voice, "Got it?"

When he didn't answer immediately, she pressed harder. He screamed as the blazing agony tore up his arm. She eased off a little and repeated her question.

"All right, all right! No illusions!"

"Good boy.' With her free hand she gave him a little pat on the head. "Now – who set me up?"

"Kiss off!" he shouted. Shalimar shook her head. And here she thought he was intelligent. Probably he was expecting her to pressure his hand again, but that was taking too long, and she was nothing if not inventive. It was time to up the ante. He screamed again when she snapped his little finger.

"That's one. You want to try that answer again?"

Veins stood out in his neck as he gritted his teeth against the pain. She broke the next finger and was rewarded with an agonized howl.

"That's two. You know, I could keep this up all day – or at least until I run out of bones to break - but since your boss is supposed to be here soon, let's speed this up." She brought her hand in front of his face, letting him get a good look at her well-honed nails. Her hair tickled his ear as she leaned close, her soft voice almost a purr. "Since you like illusions so much, how would you like to live one 24/7?"

Dawson's face blanched. The fingers before him began to curl, and it seemed in his horror as though the nails were growing, becoming as pointed and sharp as the claws of a tiger. He jerked, a frenzied movement as he tried to pull away, but he was held as securely as if he were tied down. One finger slowly stroked his cheek. He felt the flesh part, leaving a trail of red.

"Hmm, that's a start. Let's see…" She traced another line down the opposite cheek, and let him see his blood on her fingers. There were some who would cavil at her methods of persuasion, but that the moment she couldn't care less. He'd forfeited any expectation of gentle treatment when he used that shock stick on her. A meat-eating smile touched her lips.

"These two little scratches might heal okay, but if you don't start talking, I'm going to cut a bone-deep tic-tac-toe board across your face. And if you really annoy me, one of the lines is going right across your eyes."

Dawson screeched, an inarticulate sound, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. He struggled again, wildly, desperately, with no better result that before. She placed her nail at his temple, letting him feel it pop through the skin and start blood trickling down toward his ear.

"_The name!"_

"Damien Acosta!"

Blinking in shock, Shal unconsciously eased up a fraction on her impromptu facial. The name was not one she expected. She well remembered the renegade telepath/telekinetic who crossed their path nearly a year ago, but they hadn't heard so much as a whisper about him since then. A shiver of fear rippled up her spine. Although she never engaged Acosta face to face, so he never got the chance to invade her mind, memories of Gabriel Ashlocke, and how it felt to have him inside her head haunted her. She refused to go through that again_. _She'd kill him first.

"What does he want with me?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" Dawson's voice rose a notch, broken and pleading. "He didn't say, and I didn't ask questions. All I know is that I was supposed to watch you until he got here!"

Shalimar believed him. The smell of his fear was potent and unmistakable.

"When is he due?"

"Any minute!"

A flash of lightning punctuated his words, suddenly splitting the late afternoon sky visible through the balcony's glass doors. Shal felt her stomach turn to ice. The bolt was a vertical strike, not cloud to ground as was found in nature, but the opposite. It was close, too, within a couple of blocks at her best guess, and too big to have come from something as mundane as a blown transformer. This had to come from a mutant, and its form and power were far too familiar to her for there to be any doubt. It must have come from Brennan.

What was he doing here? Did he come alone, or were the others with him? And what could have caused him to shoot off such a charge? A fight, obviously, but Brennan wouldn't light up like that where ordinary people could see it, unless he had no choice. The only cause she could think of that was dire enough and that close to hand was Damien Acosta.

There was no time to waste. If it was Acosta, and he was battling her friends, they would need her help. Her knee left Dawson's neck as she grabbed him once more by the hair and snapped his head around.

"Gotta go," she said, her voice low and menacing, "But if you ever come near me or mine again, I won't just finish carving up your face. I'll rip your heart out."

With one last contemptuous glance she threw open the balcony doors, leaped to the roof, and was gone.

"Brennan, are you all right?"

That was Jesse's voice coming over the comlink. He must have seen his bolt and thought he might be under attack. Brennan cursed himself, disgusted with his momentary loss of self-control. If the molecular had seen it from the Helix, chances were half the city had also. Hopefully no one would come to investigate the phenomenon.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Thankfully, Jesse was intuitive enough not to ask the obvious follow-up question. Brennan drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He had to put aside his emotions for now; he would be no good to Shalimar if he couldn't think clearly. The thing to do now was to get his head back into the strategies he devised on the way out to battle Acosta. It would be dangerous taking him on without any real preparation, but right now it didn't look like they had any other choice.

"Where is Acosta now?"

"He's made the turn onto Central Freeway; less than five minutes away. Both of you, come back to the Helix; we're going to have to let him lead us to Shalimar."

Lexa responded first. "This may help – I've spotted several security cameras in the area. If I help you hack in, maybe between us we can see who took her and where they went."

"Good work, Lexa. Brennan, did you find anything in the alley?"

"Nothing that would do any good." Frustration freighted his voice, lashing him with the reminder of his failure.

"All right, come on back. We'll follow him from the air."

Brennan acknowledged, and started down the alley. He would have to hustle; there wouldn't be much time to clue the others in on the strategies he devised. He made it about a dozen steps when something hit the ground a few yards behind him. He whirled, a fistful of lightning blazing in his hand ready to launch. Only finely-honed reflexes enabled him to restrain the blue-white fire in time as he recognized the slim figure who straightened and started toward him.

"Hey – watch where you're pointing that thing."

"Shal!"

The relief that sluiced off Brennan was so powerful that he was almost light-headed with it, banishing his anxiety and frustration as if they had never been. He drank in the sight of her as she approached, the familiar feline grace of her stride, the amused smile on her face, the tousled blond hair. He also noticed the redness of hands, the barked knuckles, and the stylish suede pantsuit now rumpled and a bit the worse for wear. She looked like she came fresh from a fight, though thankfully there was no sign of any injury that he could detect. In fact, she appeared completely, wonderfully normal, with that pleased little sparkle in her eye and unconscious swagger in her step that was always there after she had just kicked some bad-guy ass. Evidently her captors had underestimated her – and thank God for that. If they hadn't….it didn't bear thinking.

Seeing him standing there, with no sign of danger around him – and really him, her senses told her, not some kind of mirage - Shalimar felt her own tension fade to puzzlement. She was immensely glad to see him, of course, but she could discern nothing that would have caused him to fire off that lightning bolt. For that matter, now that she thought about it, what was he doing here in the first place? Did he fly out on his own because of last night and what was happening between them, or did the whole team come because they somehow found out about Damien Acosta stalking her? She was a little surprised at the small voice inside that hoped it was the former. Not that the latter wasn't a good reason, but it would be nice to know that he felt it, too; this new sense of closeness that seemed to be growing between them. On the other hand, if he didn't know about Acosta and had just flown out because he was feeling overprotective, she'd probably have to slug him on general principles. The nuances here were important. She stopped before him, tilting her head up inquiringly.

"Fancy meeting you here."

It was all he could do not to crush her in his arms and never let her go, but he figured she would probably split his lip if he did. This was not the time or the place to let her know how his emotions were running rampant at the sight of her safe and sound. With a huge effort he restrained himself and drew in a deep, steadying breath. "Lexa's Dominion contact tipped us off that Damien Acosta was after you," he explained, "It was because of him that your mom was able to get in touch with you. He arranged it on purpose so he could get you alone. We just spent the day racing him across the country to get to you first."

Shalimar stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Are you saying that my mother set me up?" No. She couldn't believe it.

He hastened to reassure her.

"No, no, it was all Acosta. He orchestrated this whole thing from behind the scenes, using your dad's old secretary to slip your contact information to your mom. She had nothing to do with it. Acosta just used her to get to you. All the way here we kept trying to warn you, calling both your cell and your mom's phone, but couldn't get an answer. And then we got here and I found this."

He opened his hand to reveal her comlink ring. She started to reach for it, but he was quicker. He caught her right hand and held it as he slowly slipped the gleaming circlet onto her finger. Immediately the unique sigils of her DNA appeared on its shiny surface. She looked up into eyes suddenly deep and filled with unspoken things, and felt her breathing start to quicken. Then he released it, and that mysterious look was gone as quickly as it appeared. Before she could do any more than register that her heart was unaccountably racing, Jesse's voice suddenly crackled over the comlink.

"Shalimar! Are you all right?"

The ring's activation must have popped up on the Helix's tracking system. Shalimar didn't know whether to laugh or groan. Jesse really needed to do something about his appalling sense of timing, but at least it allowed her to regain some measure of equilibrium. Brennan's teeth ground in frustration. She managed a weak chuckle.

"I'm fine, Jess."

She could hear his relief blow out in a long breath.

"Thank God. Listen, you two need to get back here asap. Acosta's limo is heading in your direction, maybe two minutes away."

He must be headed for Dawson's apartment. She didn't get out of there any too soon. "We'll be right there."

Ah, hell. Even if she did slug him, it would be worth it. Brennan couldn't stand it any longer. As Shalimar took a step toward the mouth of the alley, he reached out and snagged her around the waist, pulling her into a rough embrace. For a long moment he just stood there, his arms wrapped tightly about her slim frame.

Startled, pressed so close she didn't need her feral ears to hear the beating of his heart, she glanced up, and was surprised to see that he wasn't even looking at her. His eyes were closed, his visage cast into harsh planes by the subtle shadows of the alley wall. She read tension there easily enough, and yet there was something else in his familiar features, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She got a second surprise when she felt a tremor ripple through his big frame. Unbidden, one hand reached up to lightly touch his face.

"Brennan?"

He expelled a long breath, letting the last dregs of the rigidly coiled tension in his muscles drain away, and reluctantly let his arms loosen. His eyes opened to meet her mystified gaze.

"You scared me," he said simply. Man, was that ever the understatement of the year! He had never known such terror in his entire life.

Shalimar's heart melted. The big lug must have really been worried about her. Usually her response would be to remind him that she could take care of herself, but not this time. This time it felt good. Right. This was where she wanted to be.

In his arms, that is, not standing here in this alley. For one thing, the rotting garbage and other smells were getting pretty intense to her feral nose. For another, she wasn't in the mood to tangle with Damien Acosta. The moment would come later when she would return his embrace with her own, and let the love foretold to her take flight. Leaning against his hard, muscled body, she reached up, and her lips were soft and warm as they brushed his. Then she stepped back and slipped her hand into his.

"Come on – there's someone I want you to meet."

Damien Acosta stood in the middle of the room Shalimar Fox so recently quitted, and minutely straightened the cuffs of his impeccably tailored suit jacket. Silence settled like a velvet cloak around him. The battle had been invigorating but short, the outcome never in doubt. Beside him his dumbfounded chauffeur stared at the still, bloodied form of Allan Dawson, lying on the floor with his neck at a neatly perpendicular and wholly unnatural angle to his body.

As soon as he entered the apartment and saw that his prize had escaped, Damien knew what had to be done. He couldn't have his underlings defying orders. Dawson's arrogant impetuosity had wrecked a carefully planned strategy, and cost him a valuable asset in the bargain. Worse, the man even tried to lie to him, as if the facts weren't plain enough for even a blind man to see, let alone a telepath. Oddly enough, he seemed truly astounded when informed of the consequences of his rash behavior. How strange.

He would need another stalking horse now, something or someone else to spearhead his upcoming attack on Dominion headquarters. He would have to give it careful thought. Still, this fiasco wasn't a total loss. Damien gestured, and the area rug on which the body was lying wrapped itself around the corpse. He waved his man forward.

"Bring the body. We'll take it to the Providence facility. Mr. Dawson's DNA will be a useful addition to Dr. Harrison's grafting process. Let us hope that his recipients will be more… obedient."

He turned on his heel and strode leisurely from the wrecked penthouse.

_The End_

_Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed this story, which takes them right up to "The Assault'. Watch for 'Counterstrike!', my version of what happens next. It climaxes in a three way battle royal between Mutant X, Damien Acosta, and the Dominion, and involves the fate of Adam, the Creator, the team themselves, and perhaps all of mutantkind. All this, and some old friends come to call. Stay tuned! _

10


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